"I'm sure you needn't be," Theresa said cheerfully, but she was anxious. Grace, with her beauty and the warm, swift blood flushing her cheeks, seemed to her the very embodiment of life, and she feared its impulse. Her own knowledge had the vagueness of inexperience, and it was the more alarming, so she watched Grace jealously, and knew something of the cares of parenthood. Some weeks later, on a cold and windy evening in March, she walked home very quickly from Mr. Partiloe's office. She held her head high, but for once she was unobservant of how the chestnut trees were swelling into black, shining buds, and how the sound of her feet on the pavement had the ring of spring-time in it, and the birds were giving out shrill notes of joy. She went to her room, flung her hat on the bed and ran her fingers through her hair. "I never go to that man's office again," she said to Grace, who was sitting on the window-sill with hands loosely clasped in her lap, and a tender smile on her lips. "What's the matter?" "I've left." She flounced on to the bed, expectant of more questions, but none came, for Grace was gazing straight into heaven. "I've left," she repeated. "Mr. Jessop nearly cried, and so did I; but I've asked him to come to tea on Sunday and bring his sister and as many cats as they like. Grace, do you hear?" "Yes, I hear. Then we must tell Bessie to take a lot of extra milk on Sunday. Have you really left?" "Yes, I have." She kicked her shoes to the far end of the room. "Good heavens! The creature asked me to marry him!" She shuddered strongly. "Grace, he asked me to marry him! And his hands trembled! I didn't know people could go on like that. Never, never, never, shall any other man do it. I won't give him a chance. It was dreadful." "It wouldn't have been dreadful if you had loved him." Grace spoke softly. "Poor little man. What did you say to him?" "Say! I couldn't speak! How did I know he was going to be so ridiculous? And to do it in the office! I thought I might conceivably fall in love some day, but I know now that my affection wouldn't survive the proposal. Why didn't you tell me people behaved like that?" "I expect they are all different. Tell me about it, Terry." Theresa padded up and down the room in her stockinged feet. "It was this afternoon. I went into his room to take down letters, and suddenly he stopped dictating. Oh, I can't tell you! But he says he has loved me for three years, and something about the sunlight on my hair when I first entered the office--I don't know!--and his eyes looked like lamps behind those enormous spectacles, and his face was white and--and quivering. Oh, let me forget it. But I never shall. I want to go into a nunnery. I feel stained." "Don't talk like that, Theresa dear. He couldn't do more than ask you to marry him, could he? And you are insulting him, and--and love, too!"