olly had gone down to the beach. She pulled out one of the old basket chairs, one of the more rickety ones that were seldom used. She sat in it for a while looking at the sea, then suddenly she dropped her head in her hands and burst into tears. She sat there sobbing unrestrainedly for some time. Then she heard a rustle by her and glanced up sharply to see Mrs. Hillingdon looking down at her.

“Hallo, Evelyn, I didn't hear you. I-I'm sorry.”

“What's the matter, child?” said Evelyn. “Something gone wrong?” She pulled another chair forward and sat down. “Tell me.”

“There's nothing wrong,” said Molly. “Nothing at all.”

“Of course there is. You wouldn't sit and cry here for nothing. Can't you tell me? Is it-some trouble between you and Tim?”

“Oh no!”

“I'm glad of that. You always look so happy together.”

“Not more than you do,” said Molly. “Tim and I always think how wonderful it would be for the children you know,” she said. “Children whom we're both very fond of. They're at school in England. We didn't want to break up the home. And then of course, Lucky didn't want a divorce either. Greg's a very rich man. His first wife left a lot of money. So we agreed to live and let live. Edward and Lucky in happy immorality, Greg in blissful ignorance, and Edward and I just good friends.” She spoke with scalding bitterness.

“How-how can you bear it?”

“One gets used to anything. But sometimes-”

“Yes?” said Molly.

“Sometimes I'd like to kill that woman.”

The passion behind her voice startled Molly.

“Don't let's talk any more about me,” said Evelyn. “Let's talk about you. I want to know what's the matter.”

Molly was silent for some moments and than she said, “It's only-it's only that I think there's something wrong about me.”

“Wrong? What do you mean?”

Molly shook her head unhappily. “I'm frightened,” she said. “I'm terribly frightened.”

“Frightened of what?”

“Everything,” said Molly. “It's-growing on me. Voices in the bushes, footsteps-or things that people say. As though someone were watching me all the time, spying on me. Somebody hates me. That's what I keep feeling. Somebody hates me.”

“My dear child,” Evelyn was shocked and startled. “How long has this been going on?”

“I don't know. It came-it started by degrees. And there have been other things too.”

“What sort of things?”

“There are times,” said Molly slowly, “that I can't account for, that I can't remember.”

“Do you mean you have blackouts-that sort of thing?”

“I suppose so. I mean sometimes it's-oh, say it's five o'clock-and I can't remember anything since about half past one or two.”

“Oh my dear, but that's just that you've been asleep. Had a doze.”

“No,” said Molly, “it's not like that at all. Because you see, at the end of the time it's not as though I'd just dozed off. I'm in a different place. Sometimes I'm wearing different clothes and sometimes I seem to have been doing things-even saying things to people, talking to someone, and not remembering that I've done so.”

Evelyn looked shocked. “But, Molly, my dear, if this is so, then you ought to see a doctor.”

“I won't see a doctor! I don't want to. I wouldn't go near a doctor.”

Evelyn looked sharply down into her face, then she took the girl's hand in hers. “You may be frightening yourself for nothing, Molly. You know there are all kinds of nervous disorders that aren't really serious at all. A doctor would soon reassure you.”

“He mightn't. He might say that there was something really wrong with me.”

“Why should there be anything wrong with you?”

“Because-” Molly spoke and then was silent. “-no reason, I suppose,” she said.

“Couldn't your family-haven't you any family any mother or sisters or someone who could come out here?”

“I don't get on with my mother. I never have. I've got sisters. They're married but I suppose-I suppose they could come if I wanted them. But I don't want them. I don't want anyone-anyone except Tim.”

“Does Tim know about this? Have you told him?”

“Not really,” said Molly. “But he's anxious about me and he watches me. It's as though he were trying to-to help me or to shield me. But if he does that it means I want shielding, doesn't it?”

“I think a lot of it may be imagination but I still think you ought to see a doctor.”

“Old Dr. Graham? He wouldn't be any good.”

“There are other doctors on the island.”

“It's all right, really,” said Molly. “I just mustn't think of it. I expect, as you say, it's all imagination. Good gracious, it's getting frightfully late. I ought to be on duty now in the dining room. I-I must go back.”

She looked sharply and almost offensively at Evelyn Hillingdon, and then hurried off.

Evelyn stared after her.