GINEVRA. 'Quick.'

AMY. 'She came toddling down the stairs--she was barefooted--she took
in the whole situation at a glance--and, running to her father, she
said, "Daddy, if mother goes away what is to become of me?"' Amy gulps
and continues: 'And then she took a hand of each and drew them
together till they fell on each other's breasts, and then--Oh,
Ginevra, then--Click!--and the curtain fell.'

GINEVRA, when they are more composed, 'How old was the child?'

AMY. 'Five. She looked more.'

GINEVRA, her brows knitted, 'Molly is under two, isn't she?'

AMY. 'She is not quite twenty months.'

GINEVRA. 'She couldn't possibly do it.'

AMY. 'No; I thought of that. But she couldn't, you know, even though
she was held up. Mother couldn't help thinking the scene was a good
omen, though.' They both look at the ceiling again. 'How still they
are.'

GINEVRA. 'Perhaps she hasn't had the courage to tell.'

AMY. 'If so, I must go on with it.'

GINEVRA, feeling rather small beside Amy, 'Marry him?'