She struck a wayside stone with her stick as she spoke, but there were tears rising in her blue eyes. Jockie linked her arm in hers.
"No, dear, you two will never hit it off together, never! Has your mother disappointed the old Major again?"
"I took up a note to him, asking him to dinner instead. She is out now motoring, but I did not want to go. It is no fun to me."
"No. You're gooseberry!" said Jockie.
Gavine stared at her.
"I sometimes think I am very dense. What do you mean? You don't know mother as I do, Jockie. She is friends with everybody. She always has been, but never anything more."
There was an anxious look in Gavine's eyes, and Jockie did not enlighten her further. They began to talk of "work," which was Gavine's favourite topic.
"I want to work somewhere in London, Jockie. If only mother would give me a little more money, I could do it. I should like to go to one of those settlements, where everybody is doing something for others. There is so much to be done, so few to do it. I don't want to hide my talents in a napkin. It is the next life that matters, not this. We are in a school of discipline here. We must make efforts towards heaven, and I do not want to fail in getting there, do you?"
"I don't know," said Jockie soberly. "I don't incline towards the strenuous disciplined life. I have often told you so. I want to enjoy everything as it comes. It always seems to me that in preference you cross the street to the shady side. Now I like to walk in the sun."
"I want to keep my body in subjection," said Gavine, with earnest shining eyes, "so that it will not be a hindrance to me when I am working. I sometimes think I should like to join a sisterhood. I was very nearly doing it a year ago, and then I promised someone I would not."