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away, was fumbling, perhaps through sudden tears, for the door-handle. ‘Will you stay for my sake?’

Hester stood turned away, her head bent down in an attitude of sombre attention.

‘I mean,’ said Monica, and she felt her own tears rising, ‘if I need you, too.—I have nothing to do with you and Clive now. I can’t give you back to him, for you’re not mine to give, nor him to you: he is yours in a way he never could be mine; in spite of what you say. But I need you, too, and I believe you can care for me. Didn’t you feel it yesterday? Didn’t you say that you could tell me everything? Isn’t that enough to stay and try to let it grow on?’

She had put out her hands. Hester had turned and leant back against the door, solemnly looking at her. They had kissed each other so often, and the kisses had meant nothing. Now an immense shyness lay between them, but she had taken Hester’s hands and Hester did not move away. She did not acquiesce, but she did not move away; she stood, solemnly looking at her.

‘Perhaps you haven’t changed as much. Perhaps you don’t feel it as I do,’ said Monica. ‘But I know that I have found you and that I love you and don’t want to go on without you. Will you stay and be my daughter?’