She had it in her mind that unless David would let her help him soon, he would be past helping. He looked at her indifferently. “You will stay here?” “Not unless you wish,” she answered. “I? Oh! it is for you to say.” There was no interest in his tone. If he thought of anything it was of Ronnie Ellerton. A complete apathy had descended upon him. Nothing was real, nothing mattered. Health—sanity—rest—these were only names. They meant nothing. Only when he turned to his work, his brain still moved with the precision of a machine, regularly, correctly. He did not tell her either then or ever, that Katie Ellerton had broken down and spoken bitter words about his marriage. “I’ve nothing but Ronnie—nothing but Ronnie—and you will go away with her and he will die. I know he will die if you go. Can’t she spare you just for two days—or three—to save Ronnie’s life? Promise me you won’t go till he is safe—promise—promise.” And David had promised, taking in what she had said about the child, but only half grasping the import of her frantic appeal. Neither he nor she were real people to him just now. Only Ronnie was real—Ronnie, who was ill, and his patient. Elizabeth went through the next two days with a heavy heart. She had to meet Mary’s questions, her objections, her disapprobations, and it was all just a little more than she could bear. On the night before the wedding, Mary left Edward upstairs and came to sit beside Elizabeth’s fire. Elizabeth would rather have been alone, and yet she was pleased that Mary cared to come. If only she would let all vexed questions be—it seemed as if she would, for her mood was a silent one. She sat for a long time without speaking, then, with an impulsive movement, she slid out of her chair and knelt at Elizabeth’s side. “Oh, Liz, I’ve been cross. I know I have. I know you’ve thought me cross. But it’s because I’ve been unhappy—Liz, I’m not _happy_ about you——” Elizabeth put her hand on Mary’s shoulder for a moment. “Don’t be unhappy, Molly,” she said, in rather an unsteady voice. “But I am, Liz, I am—I can’t help it—I have talked, and worried you, and have been cross, but all the time I’ve been most dreadfully unhappy. Oh, Liz, don’t do it—don’t!” “Molly, dear——” “No, I know it’s no use—you won’t listen—” and Mary drew away and dabbed her eyes with a fragmentary apology for a pocket-handkerchief. “Molly, please——” Mary nodded. “Yes, Liz, I know. I won’t—I didn’t mean to——” There was a little silence. Then with a sudden choking sob, Mary turned and said: “I can’t _bear_ it. Oh, Liz, you ought to be loved so much. You ought to marry some one who loves you—_really_——. And I don’t think David does. Liz, does he love you—does he?” The sound of her own words frightened her a little, but Elizabeth answered very gently and sadly: “No, Molly, but he needs me.”