Mary had finished cutting her book; she got up and flung it down on the tea-table. "What a preposterous conversation!" she exclaimed with force, tossing the words from her as she tossed her book; and, looking round her vaguely a moment, without meeting Guy Firminger's eyes, she walked away to the house.
Firminger sat watching her; then he said serenely to her mother: "Why has our Mary left us?"
"She has gone to get something, I suppose."
"What has she gone to get?"
"A little stick, to beat you, perhaps."
"You don't mean I've been objectionable?"
"Dear, no—I'm joking. One thing is very certain," pursued Mrs. Gosselin; "that you ought to work—to try to get on exactly as if nothing could ever happen. Oughtn't you?" She threw off the question mechanically as her visitor continued silent.
"I'm sure she doesn't like it!" he exclaimed, without heeding her appeal.
