The girlish questionings and fears broke down Susan Hornby's control and
she fell on Elizabeth's neck and sobbed openly as she said:

"I know, I know. I've thought of little else of late. My poor little ewe
lamb! My poor little ewe lamb!"

The ethics of Susan Hornby's generation did not permit of an outright
discussion of the marriage relation. She did not have the matter clear in
her own mind, but a sort of dull terror came over her whenever she thought
of Elizabeth becoming John Hunter's wife. She could hardly have told why.
She knew that somehow human beings missed the highest in the marriage
relation and that the undiscussed things of life had to do with the
failure; she knew also that her instincts regarding this marriage were
true, but she could sound no warning because her knowledge came from the
instincts and had no outward evidence of fact with which to support it. To
how large a degree did these warnings apply to all? Susan Hornby had
plenty of time to wonder and think, for Elizabeth cried softly to herself
without speaking further. The older woman's hand wandered over the glossy
braids in her lap, and her eyes wandered off toward the Carter homestead
while her mind struggled with the problems of the neighbourhood. Elizabeth
had put into words a thing she had herself observed. She saw the
irritability of men toward their wives; she saw women about them who
toiled earnestly, who bore children, and who denied themselves every sort
of pleasurable relation at the demand of husbands who never gave them a
look of comradery or good fellowship in return. Was it the weariness of
the struggle to live, or was it sex, or was it the evil domination of men?
This girl whose sunny hair she was caressing was to go under the merciless
hammer of the matrimonial auctioneer. What was to be her fate? Susan
Hornby saw that love had touched the highest in Elizabeth Farnshaw's
nature and that the girl yearned toward a high ideal of family life. She
had shown it in her girlish chatter as they had sewed together. Could she
attain to it? Susan Hornby thought of John Hunter and stiffened. She felt
that Elizabeth would yearn toward it all the days of her life with him and
never catch even a fleeting glimpse of it.

Elizabeth snuggled closer on the step and reached for the hand stroking
her head.

"It isn't the faded dresses, Aunt Susan; it's--it's the faded life I'm
afraid of," she whispered thickly.

Susan Hornby bent her head to catc