Lizzie hugged the doll. “I don’t mind so much now. I’ll keep along by the sea and run, and only open my eyes now and then. Here’s your money, miss.”
She went off at a run. Honoria pocketed the half-crown and went back to her fly-fishing. But after a few casts she desisted, and took her rod to pieces slowly. The afternoon was hot and sultry. She sat down in the shadow of the balustrade and gazed at the long, blank facade of the house baking in the sun; at the tall, uncurtained windows; at the peacock stalking to and fro like a drowsy sentinel.
“You are a beast of a house,” she said contemplatively; “and I hate every stone of you!”
She stood up and strolled toward the stables. The stable yard was empty but for the Gordon setter dozing by the pump-trough. Across from the kitchens came the sound of the servants’ voices chattering. Honoria had never made friends with the servants.
She tilted her straw hat further over her eyes, and sauntered up the drive with her hands behind her; through the great gates and out upon the towans. She had started with no particular purpose, and had none in her mind when she came in sight of the Parsonage, and of Humility seated in the doorway with her lace pillow across her knees.
It had been the custom among the women of Beer Village to work in their doorways on sunny afternoons, and Humility followed it.
She looked up smiling. “Taffy is down by the shore, I think.”
“I didn’t come to look for him. What beautiful work!”
“It comes in handy. Won’t you step inside and let me make you a cup of tea?”
“No, I’ll sit here and watch you.” Humility pulled in her skirts, and Honoria found room on the doorstep beside her. “Please don’t stop. It’s wonderful. Now I know where Taffy gets his cleverness.”