“Come with me to London,” she pleaded to the girl. “I will make it nice for you, — you shall do lots of things you will enjoy.”

“No,” said Ursula, stubbornly and dully.

“No, I don't want to go to London, I want to be by myself.”

Winifred knew what this meant. She knew that Ursula was beginning to reject her. The fine, unquenchable flame of the younger girl would consent no more to mingle with the perverted life of the elder woman. Winifred knew it would come. But she too was proud. At the bottom of her was a black pit of despair. She knew perfectly well that Ursula would cast her off.

And that seemed like the end of her life. But she was too hopeless to rage.