"It's really too bad of you, Miss Scott," Sybil declared. "Now to-day,
if you will come, luncheon shall be served in my own room. We shall be
quite cosy and quiet, and I promise you that you shall not see a soul
except my mother--whom I want you to know."
Mary shook her head.
"Don't think me unkind," she said. "I really must not begin visiting.
I have only just time for a hurried lunch, and then I must look in at
the office and get down to Bermondsey."
"You might just as well have that hurried lunch with me," Sybil
declared. "I'll send you anywhere you like afterwards in the carriage."
"It is very kind of you," Mary answered, "but my visiting days are over.
I am not a social person at all, you know. My role is usefulness, and
nothing else."
"You are too young to talk like that," Sybil said. "I am ten years
older than you are," Mary reminded her. "You are twenty-eight," Sybil
answered. "I think it is beautiful of you to be so devoted to this
work, but I am quite sure a little change now and then is wholesome."
"In another ten years I may think of it," Mary said.
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