She caught Elizabeth’s hand and squeezed it. “Oh, Liz, be glad for me. I’m so glad and happy, and I want some one to be glad too. You don’t know how I’ve wanted it. No one knows. I’ve simply hated all the people in the _Morning Post_ who had babies. I’ve not even read the first column for weeks, and when Sybil Delamere sent me an invitation to her baby’s christening—she was married the same day I was, you know—I just tore it up and _burnt_ it. And now it’s really coming to me, and you’re to be glad for me, Liz.” “Molly, darling, I _am_ glad—so glad.” “Really?” Mary looked up into her sister’s face, searchingly. “You’re thinking of me, _really_ of me—not about David, as you were just now? Oh, yes, I knew.” Elizabeth laughed. “Really, Molly, mayn’t I think of my own husband?” “Not when I’m telling you about a thing like this,” said Mary. “Liz, you are the first person I have told, the _very_ first.” Elizabeth did not allow her thoughts to wander again. As they talked, the rain beat heavily against the windows, and they heard the rush of it in the gutters below. “What a pity,” Mary cried. “How quickly it has come up, and last night was so lovely. Did you see the moon? And to-night it is full.” “Yes, to-night it is full,” said Elizabeth. Edward and Mary came down to see their guests off. Edward shut the door behind them. “What a night!” he exclaimed. But Mary came close and whispered: “I’ve told her.” “Have you?” Edward’s tone was just the least shade perfunctory. He slid home the bolt of the door and turning, caught Mary in his arms and hugged her. “O Mary, _darling_!” Mary glowed, responsive. “O Mary, darling, it really _is_ a new spider,” he cried. David and Elizabeth walked home in a steady downpour. Mary had lent her overshoes, and she had tucked up her dress under a mackintosh of Edward’s. There was much merriment over their departure with a large umbrella between them, but as they walked home, they both grew silent. Elizabeth said good-night in the hall, and ran up to her room. To-night he would not come. Oh, to-night she felt quite sure that he would not come. It was dark. She heard the rain falling into the river, and she could just see how the trees bent in the rush of it. And yet she sat for an hour, by her window, in the dark, waiting breathlessly for that which would not happen.