"I see," she sighed. "Your benevolent heart has run away with
you, as usual. His infirmities appealed to your pity. You married him
so that you might nurse and take care of him--"

"Not at all!" Deb broke in warmly. "And don't you talk about his
infirmities in that free-and-easy way; he is no more infirm than you
are. Did I say he was? That was my joke. He always was the handsomest
man that I ever set eyes on, and he is the same still. No, my dear, I
have not married him to take care of him, but so that he may take care
of me. I'm lonely. I want somebody. I've come to the time of life when
I am of no account to the young folks--not even to Bob, who would not
give me a second thought if I was a poor woman. No, Molly dear, it is
no use your pretending; you know it as well as I do. And quite natural
too. It is the same with all of them. Nothing but money gives me
importance in their eyes. And what's money? It won't keep you warm in
the winter of your days--nothing will, except a companion that is in
the same boat. That is what I want--it may be silly, but I do--
somebody to go down into the valley of the shadow with me; and he feels
the same.' Something in Mary's face as she stared into the fire,
something in the atmosphere of the conversation, drove her into this
line of self-defence. 'Oh, there is no love-making and young nonsense
in our case--we are not quite such idiots as that comes to; it is just
that we begin to feel the cold, as it were, and are going to camp
together to keep each other warm. That's all."

Mary remained silent.

"Well, I must go," said Deb, jumping up, as if washing her hands of a
disappointing job. "The carriage must be there, and Bob will be
starving for his dinner. No use asking you to join us, I know. But you