Mary looked at her sister with such anger and venom that Edith nearly shivered. Although Edith knew she was in the right, her elder sister could be very intimidating, and right now Mary was doing her best to keep that up.

"As usual you have it backwards," Mary said, squaring her shoulders. "It was the other way around." She paused. "Tom was in love with me," she admitted with just a hint of sadness in her voice.

"So it was completely one-sided then?" Edith pressed. "You never felt anything for him in return?" She would never believe that for a second, but she was curious to see just how far Mary's denial would go.

"I am NOT having this conversation with you," Mary snapped.

"You have to have it with someone, Mary. You've spent the past few months shutting everyone out – no one can talk to you!"

"Edith, I've warned you before," Mary was deadly serious. "STAY OUT OF MY LIFE."

Edith took a moment and swallowed, deciding not to let her elder sister shake her confidence. "You cannot frighten me," she declared. "I told Bertie about Marigold weeks ago."

Mary was visibly startled. "You did?"

"Yes. And he loves me anyway, so don't you dare attempt to blackmail me." Edith stood tall in her self-confidence. She was aware that she had taken away the one trump card her sister thought she still held.

Mary was visibly rattled. "When… when did you tell him?"

"That's a different conversation," she said firmly. "We were talking about Tom."

"I'm not going to discuss Tom with you," Mary insisted with even a bit of a sneer.

"I really think you should," Edith persisted, even as Mary attempted to leave the room.

"Why?" she asked without turning around.

"Because…" Edith grasped for words, "Sybil was my sister too!" she called out in sudden desperation. She hadn't planned the words, they just sprang out of her.

Mary stood completely still, her back still turned. Edith instantly regretted what she'd said.

Slowly, very slowly, Mary turned around.

"What," she asked very slowly and very angrily, "does Sybil have to do with any of this?" she dared Edith to answer.

Edith took a second and closed her eyes, willing herself to gather the courage she needed. Mary was doing her very best to intimidate her, but Edith couldn't – she just couldn't – let her win. Not this time. She had thought over it and over it the night before, and she knew that the only way to get through to Mary was to beat her at her own game. She'd have to fight intimidation with intimidation.

Edith slowly opened her eyes and met her sister with an equally solid stare. "You know exactly what I'm talking about," she declared.

"Oh, I see," Mary sneered. "This is just how accomodating we Crawley girls are. One of us dies, so Tom Branson marries the next sister. I suppose when I go, you'll have to marry him too," she glared.

"Mary, that's disgusting."

"I agree. The whole thing is disgusting. So let's not pursue this topic any further."

"You're being absurd and you're doing it completely on purpose," Edith accused. "You are making up any preposterous argument you can come up with so you don't have to talk about what's really bothering you."

Mary was taken aback at just how correctly her sister had read her. Edith could see that Mary's steel defenses were starting to crack. Mary looked around the room stupidly for a minute, then sat down on a chair. "Alright, what is really bothering me, prey? All-knowing sister of mine?" she responded with sarcasm, but Edith could tell she was really listening.

"Mary," Edith sat down in the next chair, "you are in love with Tom. Don't even bother to deny it," she held up her hand, "we can all see it. We've all been able to see it for months now."

Mary paused for a moment before responding. "If that were true, I would have accepted him then, wouldn't I?" she countered. "I thought you said you knew what was bothering me."

"I think that is what's bothering you," Edith said seriously, but not without some sympathy. "I think it bothers you that you're in love with him."

"That doesn't make any sense," Mary shook her head, her frosty exterior rising again.

"Doesn't it?" Edith quickly countered. "You don't like that you've fallen in love with Sybil's husband."

"No," Mary shook her head. "I'm not talking about this with you. You know nothing about my feelings. You… you don't know…"

"I dare say I knew Sybil as well as you, Mary. And I think she'd be more than a little annoyed with your using her as an excuse."

"An excuse? She was my sister!"

"She was my sister too," Edith snapped back.

Mary shook her head. "For God's sake, what do you WANT me to say? I've never been your confidante before, Edith, and you've certainly never been mine."

"That's beside the point," Edith dismissed her objection. She had known before she'd entered the house that morning that Mary would put up every roadblock she could to keep her off-track. She couldn't let that happen, she had to stay focused.

"What was the point then, Edith?" Mary bit back.

"Perhaps I'm wrong," Edith offered. "Maybe Sybil has nothing to do with this… but why then did you refuse Tom when you're so obviously in love with him?"

Mary didn't answer right away. Edith watched as Mary decided to herself how much she wanted to reveal.

"Even if I were," she said carefully but with honest unhappiness, "you're forgetting one very important fact."

Edith waited.

Mary sighed, looking out the windows. "Tom's not in love with me anymore."

That honestly surprised Edith. "What?"

"It's obvious. Tom no longer has any interest in me. I'm all but invisible to him now."

"I sincerely doubt that," Edith said.

"You haven't been home, Edith. You haven't seen what it's been like. He hasn't said one word of love to me in almost two months. It's as if what happened between us only exists in my memory – he's already put it behind him."

"I… I really have a hard time believing that."

"You can believe what you like, I really don't care," Mary stood up, her anger returning.

"You really think that Tom no longer loves you?" Edith couldn't quite comprehend it.

"Yes," Mary seethed, wishing she'd left the room ten minutes ago when she'd first attempted it.

"You're wrong," a familiar Irish voice came from the hall.