"Well, some of the reptiles make marvellous recoveries," said she, remembering one, at least, whom she had known.
"You can't blame them for that—it isn't very interesting to be dead, I suppose."
"As for the cats who don't leave their reptiles," continued Poppy, thinking of some of the dull people she had recently met, "nothing could be deader than the pair of them. And then they label themselves 'happily married.'"
"Now, Poppy, I won't have you walking over my cabbages and onions."
"I'm not, Clem—but they don't make marriage look alluring to anyone with an imagination, do they? Of course, it is wonderful to see your happiness——"
"Yes; Bill and I are rather wonderful"—Clem jumped up in a hurry—"I must absolutely go and get some socks and stockings to mend. There is a pile as big as a house waiting—" She flashed out of the room.
"She won't discuss her happiness with me," thought Poppy. "It is too sacred!"
By the time Clem came back a settled gloom was over everything; the rain was heavily pelting against the windows; occasionally a bright beam of light shot through the room, leaving it as grey as a witch; afterwards the thunder groaned like some god in agony.
"You won't be able to see to darn holes," said Poppy.
"Ah! you don't know Billy's holes," Clem answered sadly. "And Cinthie inherits the gentle trait. It is too bad, for I hate darning."