The very effort she had to make in conveying the impression to Mrs.Fyne, in remembering the details, in finding adequate words--or any words at all--was in itself a terribly enlightening, an ageing process.

She had talked a long time, uninterrupted by Mrs.Fyne, childlike enough in her wonder and pain, pausing now and then to interject the pitiful query: "It was cruel of her.

Wasn't it cruel, Mrs.Fyne ?" For Charley she found excuses.

He at any rate had not said anything, while he had looked very gloomy and miserable.

He couldn't have taken part against his aunt--could he?
But after all he did, when she called upon him, take "that cruel woman away." He had dragged her out by the arm.