I laughed. "Oh, birds of a feather, you know," said I. "We're all obstinate together. But we none of us waste words, so we get on first-rate."
Joyce sighed a little. "Mother said what a good-fellow he was, but father wouldn't say a word about him to me," she said. "Of course he never does. But I don't think he's looking well. He has aged so of late."
I looked at her defiantly. So many people had said the same thing during the last few months.
"Good gracious, Joyce!" I cried. "You're always saying that. Father's hale and hearty enough. Folk are bound to grow older. And I can tell you one thing, he's not half so touchy as he was. He and squire haven't had more than two rows since you left. That's a very good sign."
"Yes, I am glad of that," agreed Joyce. "The squire's too good a friend to quarrel with. And though of course I know the quarrels never meant anything, they used to make me uncomfortable, Meg, and worse than ever when you used to follow father's way. It didn't seem pretty in one of us girls, dear. Something's good for mere manners. We don't think enough of them."
I was silent. My manners were certainly of the worst when my heart did not go with them. But I was conscious that I was not quite the same girl as I had been when my sister left. Even to the squire I was different; since his talk to me on the garden terrace I had felt no inclination to be anything but gentle to him.
"Of course, if father quarrels with the bailiff it's as bad for his own health as if he quarrelled with the squire," went on my sister, concernedly.
"Why, dear me, Joyce, who said he quarrelled with him?" cried I. "I only said they were both obstinate. Father wouldn't think of quarrelling with his bailiff."
I took off my dress and hung it up, and shook out my red mop of hair before I said another word.
Then I added, "And I think Mr. Harrod is very considerate towards father. He's far too good a fellow not to be respectful to an old man." I felt bound to say that much for honesty.