"For she is coming quite to middle life," said Mrs. Hudson.
"And could discount fully ten years," returned Ralph.
"They all paint and powder, I have heard. So much dissipation cannot be good for women. But, then, she has no children to look after. Her son is at school. It does make a difference if one brings up half a dozen children and has to think of getting them settled in life."
She had had her share, good Mistress Hudson. Three daughters to marry, which she had done well; one son to bury; one rambling off, whether dead or alive no one knew; and one still left, a prop for declining years, but his mother was as anxious to keep him single as Mrs. Carrington was that her sons should marry.
They had risen from the table, and the horses had been ordered when Mr. Carrington came in. He saw how Jaqueline's face lighted up.
"The days are a little longer, and we will have our ride yet," he said in a whispered aside. But there was still some talking to do. Jaqueline made her adieus and went to put on her habit. Standing in the hall above, she waited until patience was a lost virtue.
Then Roger Carrington called to her.
"I thought they would never go, they prosed and prosed so!"
"We shall be old ourselves some day," he returned with a smile, "and perhaps prose while young people are waiting."
Then he turned her around with gentlemanly grace, admiration in his eyes.