I brought some.â
âWell, then, thatâs all right,â said Nurse Hopkins and hurried out.
Elinor and Mary were alone together.
A queer tension crept into the atmosphere. Elinor, with an obvious effort, tried to make conversation. Her lips were dry. She passed her tongue over them. She said, rather stiffly:
âYouâlike your work in London?â
âYes, thank you. IâIâm very grateful to youââ
A sudden harsh sound broke from Elinor. A laugh so discordant, so unlike her that Mary stared at her in surprise.
Elinor said:
âYou neednât be so grateful!â
Mary, rather embarrassed, said:
âI didnât meanâthat isââ
She stopped.
Elinor was staring at herâa glance so searching, so, yes, strange that Mary flinched under it.
She said:
âIsâis anything wrong?â
Elinor got up quickly. She said, turning away:
âWhat should be wrong?â
Mary murmured.
âYouâyou lookedââ
Elinor said with a little laugh:
âWas I staring? Iâm so sorry. I do sometimesâwhen Iâm thinking of something else.â
Nurse Hopkins looked in at the door and remarked brightly, âIâve put the kettle on,â and went out again.
Elinor was taken with a sudden fit of laughter.
âPolly put the kettle on, Polly put the kettle on, Polly put the kettle onâweâll all have tea! Do you remember playing that, Mary, when we were children?â
âYes, indeed I do.â
Elinor said:
â When we were children ⦠Itâs a pity, Mary isnât it, that one can never go backâ¦?â
Mary said:
âWould you like to go back?â
Elinor said with force:
âYes⦠yes â¦.â
Silence fell between them for a little while.
Then Mary said, her face flushing:
âMiss Elinor, you mustnât thinkââ
She stopped, warned by the sudden stiffening of Elinorâs slender figure, the uplifted line of her chin.
Elinor said in a cold, steel-like voice:
âWhat mustnât I think?â
Mary murmured:
âIâIâve forgotten what I was going to say.â
Elinorâs body relaxedâas at a danger past.
Nurse Hopkins came in with a tray. On it was a brown teapot, and milk and three cups.
She said, quite unconscious of anticlimax:
âHereâs the tea!â
She put the tray in front of Elinor. Elinor shook her head.
âI wonât have any.â
She pushed the tray along towards Mary.
Mary poured out two cups.
Nurse Hopkins sighed with satisfaction.
âItâs nice and strong.â
Elinor got up and moved over to the window. Nurse Hopkins said persuasively:
âAre you sure you wonât have a cup, Miss Carlisle? Do you good.â
Elinor murmured, âNo, thank you.â
Nurse Hopkins drained her cup, replaced it in the saucer and murmured:
âIâll just turn off the kettle. I put it on in case we needed to fill up the pot again.â
She bustled out.
Elinor wheeled round from the window.
She said, and her voice was suddenly charged with a desperate appeal:
âMaryâ¦â
Mary Gerrard answered quickly:
âYes?â
Slowly the light died out of Elinorâs face. The lips closed. The desperate pleading faded and left a mere maskâfrozen and still.
She said:
âNothing.â
The silence came down heavily on the room.
Mary thought:
âHow queer everything is today. As thoughâas though we were waiting for something.â
Elinor moved at last.
She came from the window and picked up the tea tray, placing on it the empty sandwich plate.
Mary jumped up.
âOh, Miss Elinor, let me.â
Elinor said sharply:
âNo, you stay here. Iâll do this.â
She carried the tray out of the room. She looked back, once, over her shoulder at Mary Gerrard by the window, young and alive and beautifulâ¦.
IV
Nurse Hopkins was in the pantry. She was
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