her hearers in its stony hardness and hopelessness. "What does it
matter?"

Miss Carew would have been less unhappy if the child had burst into any
reproaches, however angry or unseemly; she wanted to hear her say that
something was a lie, that some one was a liar, but what was so awful to
the ordinary little woman was to realise that Molly believed what had
been said, or rather the awful implication of what had been said. The
real horror was that Molly should come to such knowledge in such a way.

The girl made no effort to shake her off, and not the least response to
her caress. With perfect dignity she went quietly up-stairs. With
perfect dignity she let the governess and the housemaid do to her
whatever they liked. They bathed Molly, rubbed her with lotions,
poulticed her with mustard, gave her a hot drink, and all the time Miss
Carew's heart ached at the impossibility of helping her in the very
least.

"Can I leave the door open between our rooms, in case you want anything
in the night?" she faltered.

"Oh, yes; certainly."

"May I kiss you?"

"Yes, of course."