had an unconventional way of expressing themselves, it did not blind her to the poignant nature of their emotions. In the tone of mother and daughter was a note which showed how deeply they were wounded by her moral weakness—they could consider it nothing else. And the bitterness of the attack was the measure of their devotion. Mrs. Wren could hardly restrain her tongue, Milly was at the verge of tears. Such a girl as Mary Lawrence had no right to wreck two lives for a mere whim.
"You are nothing but a fool," said Mrs. Wren. "You'll never get such a chance again. I'd like to shake you."
Mary had no fight left in her. She sat on the sofa a picture of dismay. For the first time she saw mother and daughter as they really were, in all their native crudeness; yet when the worst was said of them they had a generosity of soul which made them suffer on her account; and that fact alone seemed to leave her at their mercy.
"You've no right to let them ruin your life and his," said Milly pitilessly.
"One simply can't go where one isn't wanted," said Mary at last with a face of ashes.
Mrs. Wren took up the phrase, the first the girl had been able to utter in her own defense, and flung it back. "Not wanted forsooth! Who are they that they should pick and choose! A dead charge on the community—neither more nor less."
"No one can't," said Mary, tormentedly. "How could one!"
"Rubbish!" said Mrs. Wren. "You can't afford to be
