She did not give the matter another thought, and Mary, now that she had stated the fact, did not seek to prove it, but tried to explain to herself, rather than to Katharine, her motives in making the statement.
She had nerved herself to do what some large and imperious instinct demanded her doing; she had been swept on the breast of a wave beyond her reckoning.
"I've told you," she said, "because I want you to help me.

I don't want to be jealous of you.

And I am--I'm fearfully jealous.

The only way, I thought, was to tell you." She hesitated, and groped in her endeavor to make her feelings clear to herself.
"If I tell you, then we can talk; and when I'm jealous, I can tell you.
And if I'm tempted to do something frightfully mean, I can tell you; you could make me tell you.

I find talking so difficult; but loneliness frightens me.