Doris disclaimed fatigue. Yet a wonder crept over her—was this sense of discontent with her little world, this craving to get away and to live a different life, really tiredness? She began to pity herself.
"What with classes—meetings—district—shoe-club—library—parish accounts—errands—"
Truth compelled a protest. Some of these belonged to winter only; some not to her at all.
"So uncomplaining! Such a brave spirit! Not much leisure for your own concerns, poor dear child!"
"Well—of course—" admitted the girl.
"Yes, of course—I know. And I can so sympathise with you in your love of reading. I adore books."
"Mother seems to think it a waste of time to read much in the morning."
"Ah—true—yes—non-intellectual!" murmured the other, not inaudibly. "Poor dear child. But, really you know, it is most necessary that you should have some recreation—apart from the time for study, which— with your mind—is so needful!"
"I go to lots of tennis-parties and afternoon teas," Doris laughed. "No end of them. You mustn't think I don't have plenty of fun." Honesty again compelled this.
Mrs. Brutt surveyed her visitor with a meaning gaze.