“It’s not such a very difficult thing,” said Mrs Hurst, the wife of the curate of Dornton, “to be a good manager, or to have good servants, if you have plenty of money.” She pressed her lips together rather bitterly, as she bent over her work.
“There was one thing, though,” pursued Miss Gibbins, dropping her voice a little, “that Mrs Forrest was not able to prevent, and that was her brother-in-law’s marriage. I happen to know that she felt that very much. And it was a sad mistake altogether, wasn’t it?”
She addressed herself pointedly to Mrs Hunt, who was gazing serenely out into the garden, and that lady murmured in a soft tone:
“Poor Prissy Goodwin! How pretty and nice she was!”
“Oh, as to that, dear Mrs Hunt,” broke in a stout lady with round eyes and a very deep voice, who had newly arrived, “that’s not quite the question. Poor Prissy was very pretty, and very nice and refined, and as good as gold. We all know that. But was it the right marriage for Mr Bernard Forrest? An organist’s daughter! or you might even say, a music-master’s daughter!”
“Old Mr Goodwin has aged very much lately,” remarked Mrs Hunt. “I met him this morning, looking so tired, that I made him come in and rest a little. He had been giving a lesson to Mrs Palmer’s children out at Pynes.”
“How kind and thoughtful of you, dear Mrs Hunt,” said Miss Gibbins. “That’s very far for him to walk. I wonder he doesn’t give it up. I suppose, though, he can’t afford to do that.”
“I don’t think he has ever been the same man since Prissy’s marriage,” said Mrs Hunt, “though he plays the organ more beautifully than ever.”
With her spectacles perched upon her nose, her hands crossed comfortably on her lap, and a most beaming smile on her face, Mrs Hunt looked the picture of contented idleness, while her guests stitched away busily, with flying fingers, and heads bent over their work. She had done about half an inch of the pattern on her strip, and now, her needle being unthreaded, made no attempt to continue it.
“Delia’s coming in presently,” she remarked placidly, meeting Miss Gibbins’ sharp glance as it rested on her idle hands; “she will take my work a little while—ah, here she is,” as the door opened.