She gazed about the garden, shrugged her thin, little, bony shoulders as though she were fifty at least, and felt tired and dull, as on the day after a party. She stood and looked at Mary and her nurse; when she saw them walk away she did not move, but stayed there, staring after them. She was greatly disappointed; she did not feel any pleasure at having forced Mary to obey her, but would have liked to have smacked and bitten her, could these violent actions have driven her into speech. In some undetermined way Mary's silence had beaten Sarah. Mary was a stupid, silly little girl, and Sarah despised and scorned her, but, somehow, that was not enough; from all of this, it simply remained that Sarah would like now to forget her, and could not. What did the silly little thing mean by looking like that? "She'll go and hug her Alice and cry over it." If only she had cried in front of Sarah that would have been something. Two days later Lady Charlotte was explaining to Sarah that so acute a financial crisis had arrived "as likely as not we shan't have a roof over our heads in a day or two." "We'll take an organ and a monkey," said Sarah. "At any rate," Lady Charlotte said, "when you grow up you'll be used to anything." Mrs. Kitson, untidy, in dishevelled clothing, and great distress, was shown in. "Dear Lady Charlotte, I must apologise--this absurd hour--but I--we--very unhappy about poor Mary. We can't think what's the matter with her. She's not slept for two nights--in a high fever, and cries and cries. The Doctor--Dr. Williamson--_really_ clever--says she's unhappy about something. We thought--scarlet fever--no spots--can't think--perhaps your little girl." "Poor Mrs. Kitson. How tiresome for you. Do sit down. Perhaps Sarah----" Sarah shook her head. "She didn't say she'd a headache in the garden the other day." Mrs. Kitson gazed appealingly at the little black figure in front of her. "Do try and remember, dear. Perhaps she told you something." "Nothing" said Sarah. "She cries and cries," said Mrs. Kitson, about whose person little white strings and tapes seemed to be continually appearing and disappearing. "Perhaps she's eaten something?" suggested Lady Charlotte. When Mrs. Kitson had departed, Lady Charlotte turned to Sarah. "What have you done to the poor child?" she said. "Nothing," said Sarah. "I never want to see her again." "Then you _have_ done something?" said Lady Charlotte. "She's always crying," said Sarah, "and she calls her kitten Alice," as though that were explanation sufficient. The strange truth remains, however, that the night that followed this conversation was the first unpleasant one that Sarah had ever spent; she remained awake during a great part of it. It was as though the hours that she had spent on that other afternoon, compelling, from her own dark room, Mary's will, had attached Mary to her. Mary was there with her now, in her bedroom. Mary, red-nosed, sniffing, her eyes wide and staring.