ugh she sought in the sight
of these well-remembered things some defence and security.

"Is your head better?" he asked her, not meeting her eyes, because the
dull pain in them disturbed him.

"Not much," she said. "It's very bad, my head. I've taken aspirin. I
didn't eat anything yesterday. Nothing at all except some bread and
milk, and very little of that ... I couldn't finish it. I felt I'd be
sick. I said to Emily, 'Emily, if I eat any more of that I'll be sick,'
and Emily advised me not to touch it. What I mean is that if I'd eaten
any more I'd have been really sick--at least that's what I felt like."

Her restless eyes came suddenly to a jerking pause as though some one
had caught and gripped them. She was suddenly dramatic. "Oh. Paul, what
are we going to do?" she cried.

Paul was irritated by that. He hated to be asked direct questions as to
policy.

"What do you mean what are we going to do?" he asked.

"Why, about this--about everything. We shall have to leave Skeaton, you
know. Fancy what people are saying!"

Suddenly, as though the thought of the scandal was too much for her,
her knees gave way and she flopped into a chair.

"Well, let them say!" he answered vigorously. "Grace, you're making too
much of all this. You'll be ill if you aren't careful. Pull yourself
together." "Of course we've got to go," she answered. "If you think
that we can go on living here after all that's happened--"

"Well, why not?" he interrupted. "We haven't done anything. It's only--"

"I know what you're going to say." (It was one of Grace's most
irritating habits that she finished other people's sentences for them
in a way that they had not intended) "that if they look at it properly
they'll see that it wasn't our fault. But will they look at it
properly? Of course they won't. You know what cats they are. They're
only waiting for a chance. What I mean is that this is just the chance
they've been waiting for."

"How can you go on and every time you preach they'll be looking up at
you and saying 'There's a brother of a murderer'? Why, fancy what you'd
feel!"

Paul jumped in his chair. "What do you mean, Grace? The brother of a
murderer?"

"What else am I?" Grace began to warm her podgy hands. "It came out at
the inquest that I wouldn't see the man, didn't it? Maggie thinks me a
murderer. I see it in her eyes every time. What I mean to say, Paul,
is, What are you going to do about Maggie?"

Grace's voice changed at