“Not know how many of each sort of fowls you have!” exclaimed Aunt Katharine. “Why, if I had a farm, I’d know every one of them by sight, and how many eggs they each laid. I suppose, though,” she added, “you leave that to your daughters. They must be a great help to you.”
Mrs Broadbent bridled:
“Emmeline and Lilian are far too much engaged,” she said, “with their studies and their artistic work. Emmeline’s quite devoted herself to art. I’ve given her a large room at the top of the house for a studio.”
“Indeed,” said Miss Chester coldly. “And what does she do in it?”
“Just now she’s painting some lovely plaques,” said Mrs Broadbent, “and Lilian’s quite taken to the new poker-work.”
“What is that?” asked her visitor.
“You haven’t seen it, Miss Chester? Well, it is quite new, and as I was saying the other day, in these remote parts we don’t see anything, do we? But Lilian’s been staying in London, and she learned it there. She did that frame.”
It seemed that poker-work was intended to have the effect of carving, which was produced by burning patterns on wood with a red-hot instrument.
“Well, if you ask my candid opinion,” said Aunt Katharine, rising to look at the frame, “I should like it much better plain; but it’s a harmless amusement, if wasting time is ever harmless.—Come Maisie, Dennis will be quite tired of waiting.—You’ll let me know about the eggs, Mrs Broadbent, and their price. I shall be much obliged if you can spare me a setting.”
In another moment Aunt Katharine would have swept out of the room, with her usual activity, but after waiting so long for a pause in the conversation, Maisie could not give up her purpose.