name--putting the meat down
to roast.... Yes--she has her own Sunday dinner to attend to, but she
says she can be in both houses at once. I heard her say so to your
sister." Gwen felt it desirable to dwell on the relationship, when
chances occurred.

"Elizabeth-next-door. I remember her when Ruth was Widow Thrale--it
seems so long ago now!... Yes--I wished Phoebe to go to church, because
she always wished to go. Besides, it made it like _then_."

"'Made it like then?'" Gwen was not sure she followed this.

"Yes--like then, when the mill was, and our father. Only before I
married and went away he made us go with him, always. He was very
strict. It was after that I would persuade Phoebe to leave me behind
when she went on Sunday. It was when she was married to Uncle Nicholas
who was drowned. We always called him Uncle Nicholas, because of my
little Ruth."

Gwen thought a moment whether anything would be gained by clearing up
this confusion. Old Maisie's belief in "Uncle Nicholas's" death by
drowning, fifty years ago, clung to her mind, as a portion of a chaotic
past no visible surrounding challenged. It was quite negligible--that
was Gwen's decision. She held her tongue.

But nothing of the Chaos was negligible. Every memory was entangled with
another. A sort of affright seemed to seize upon old Maisie, making her
hand tighten suddenly on Gwen's arm. "Oh, how was that--how was that?"
she cried. "They were together--all together!"

"It was only what the letter said," answered Gwen. "It was all a made-up
story. Uncle Nicholas was not drowned, any more than your sister, or
your child."

"Oh dear!" Old Maisie's hand went to her forehead, as though it stunned
her to think.

"They will tell you when he died, soon, when you have got more settled.
_I_ don't know."

"He must be dead, because Phoebe is a widow."

"She is the widow of the husband she married after his death. That is
why her name is Marrable, not ... Cropworthy--was it?"

"Not Cropworthy--Cropredy. Such a funny name we thought it.... But
then--Phoebe must think...."

"Think what?"

"Must think _I_ married again. Because I am Mrs. Prichard."

"Perhaps she does think so. Why are you Mrs. Prichard? Don't tell me now
if it tires you to talk."

"It does not tire me. It is easier to talk than to think. I took the
name of Prichard because I wanted it all forgotten."

"About your husband having been--in prison?"

"Oh no, no! I was not ashamed about tha