you. You know
that it was merely an accident that you were writing when Eric was
exposed to scarlet fever. You know that if you _hadn't_ been writing,
you would have been reading or sleeping or paying calls, and that if
you'd been doing any of those things, you wouldn't have thought
yourself guilty because you'd taken an hour off from the hardest job a
woman has--the mother-job--even though Eric did suffer by it. You know
you'd have recognized that there are just so many cruel mischances in
life, and that Eric's illness was one of them. You know that it was
_Ted_, back of circumstances, that influenced you to make your vow of
renunciation!"

It was what Sheila had so recently told herself, and she could not
refute it now. Looking into her downcast, acquiescent face, Charlotte
continued: "As for the vow--that's nonsense! It's mere morbid,
hysterical nonsense. God never exacted it of you. He's never held you
to it, you may be sure. If He's wanted anything of you, He's wanted
you to use the talent He's given you. If you've been at all at fault,
it's for wasting your talent. You _have_ wasted it--you've wasted it
to please Ted. You've wasted it because you've allowed yourself to be
intimidated and bullied by Ted. That's the whole trouble!"

"Oh, Charlotte--," began Sheila.

"I've spoken the truth," insisted Charlotte firmly. "You can't deny a
word I've said." And then, flinging out her hands with a gesture of
despair, "The worst of it is that it's too late to help matters now.
You'll go on in the same way--letting Ted bully you--to the end of your
days. There's never been any chance for you with him. Your chance was
with Peter Burnett. It's Peter you should have married!"

"You must not say that," objected Sheila quickly--and a little
unsteadily. "You must not say that, Charlotte. It's ridiculous. And
it's dreadful, too. Ted and I love each other--we _do_ love each
other!"

But Charlotte was no longer inclined for argument. She answered
Sheila's protest with a smile--no more. Suddenly she seemed to be
through with the subject of Sheila's life, and perching upon the
railing of the veranda, she looked off into green distances with a gaze
singularly vague and pensive for her. Sheila watched her admiringly,
noting her erect slenderness, her spirited, keenly intelligent face,
the clear blue of her eyes, the warm gold of her hair in the sunshine.

"It's you Peter should marry," said Sheila lightly,