"Of course," she added; "I always have been accustomed to a large house. It is only that this one seems to me inconvenient. The back stairs are so very central, and the telephones are so badly placed, one in the study, and the other away out in the back of the hall. Really, you would think, to see them, that the rector and the servants were the only ones to be considered, and not the housekeeper at all."
Stolidly regardless of the criticism, Olive returned to her former theme. She did this of a distinct purpose, too. It seemed to her to be quite incredible that the woman before her could be blind to her husband's haggard face. None the less, watching Kathryn, she could not in sincerity accuse her of any shamming.
"It really has worried us, my father and me, that Mr. Brenton hasn't looked quite as strong lately, as when he came here," she insisted.
"Oh, I think he is quite well. Men," Kathryn gave a vindictive sort of flap to the front breadths of her dressing gown; "never know what it is to be really ill. I tell Scott, if he were in my place—"
In mercy to probabilities, Olive interrupted.
"Saint Peter's has grown so fast, since he came here," she said.
Kathryn promptly took umbrage at the singular number of the pronoun.
"I'm sure we've done our best," she answered tartly. "It has been hard work, though, in such a dead old town as this."
"But, with all the college girls—" Olive was beginning.
Kathryn cut her short.