"It is," he said shortly.
For a moment there was silence between them, then he looked at her searchingly.
"Your face tells tales," he said; "you've heard from my Aunt Lucy about our family row, I suppose?"
"Yes, I am afraid I did. Oh, Justin, you are not going to continue the ill-feeling between you and your sister all your life?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Another case of these terrible North-country people, eh? I was willing to be friends with her long ago, but, it is useless. If you can patch up the Miss Maybricks' quarrel, you may be able to patch up ours. But you'll be a very clever woman to do either. Now what do you want to do? I wouldn't mind calling on Miss Carrie with you if you like. We could take over the car to-morrow. But if she's ill, she'll hardly be likely to see visitors."
"Mr. Bolland says it is rheumatism, but he says she does see people. For it was an old friend who went to see her who told Mr. Bolland about her. It's very good of you. I think I should like to see her."
So the next day Justin had out the car. He had engaged a chauffeur on a month's trial, so did not drive himself.
It was a lovely day, and as they wound about the Fells, going up through a pass into a still wilder and more desolate country beyond, Anstice turned to her husband:
"Do you think that this wild, bold scenery hardens people's hearts instead of softening? I imagine we are susceptible to our atmosphere."