So Roberta went.

Ruth brushed the girls' hair and helped them to undress. (Mother
almost always did this herself.) When she had turned down the gas
and left them she found Peter, still dressed, waiting on the stairs.

"I say, Ruth, what's up?" he asked.

"Don't ask me no questions and I won't tell you no lies," the red-
headed Ruth replied. "You'll know soon enough."

Late that night Mother came up and kissed all three children as they
lay asleep. But Roberta was the only one whom the kiss woke, and
she lay mousey-still, and said nothing.

"If Mother doesn't want us to know she's been crying," she said to
herself as she heard through the dark the catching of her Mother's
breath, "we WON'T know it. That's all."

When they came down to breakfast the next morning, Mother had
already gone out.

"To London," Ruth said, and left them to their breakfast.

"There's something awful the matter," said Peter, breaking his egg.
"Ruth told me last night we should know soon enough."

"Did you ASK her?" said Roberta, with scorn.