“Rather useful, mustn’t it be, to have pendants so plentifully about you that you can hand them out to the first young lady who takes a fancy to them? Has she given you anything, Nancy?”
“I’m sure she would. But I shall be more careful than Meg was.”
“Perhaps Meg will practise carelessness, since it’s so remunerative. What has she given Palgrave? He seems absorbed.”
“Isn’t it wonderful,” said Nancy. “It’s wonderful for Palgrave, you know, Roger, because he is rather sad and bitter, really, just now; and I think she will make him much happier. They went off to the woods together directly after breakfast.”
“What’s he sad and bitter about? You mean his socialism and all the rest of it?”
“Yes; and religion. You remember; when you were here at Christmas.”
“I remember that he was very foolish and made me lose my temper. Is there a chance of Miss Toner turning him into a good capitalist and churchman?”
Nancy smiled, but very faintly. “It’s serious, you know, Roger.”
“What she’s done to them already, you mean?”
“Yes. What she’s done already. She had Meg, after lunch, in her room. Meg looked quite different when she came out. It’s very strange, Roger. It’s as if she’d changed them all. I almost feel,” Nancy looked round at the happy house and up at the tranquil elms where the rooks were noisily preparing for bed, “as if nothing could be the same again, since she’s come.” Her clear profile revealed little of the trouble in her heart. They had not named Barney; but he must be named.