"I am sorry for that, dear," she said. "But—but don't make yourself unhappy. Don't contribute to it."
The expected summons came, and even as the wheels of the motor crunched the gravel Lind sounded the gong and Mrs. Hancock entered. The household books had proved at least a sovereign less than she had expected, also the coral necklace with the pearl clasp had come back from the jeweller's in its new case, with Edith's initials on it. She felt that these two delightful phenomena were somehow dependent on each other; the money she had spent on the new case seemed to be returned to her by the modesty of the household books.
"Dearest, are you ready?" she asked Edith. "Let us start at once and we can go round by the old mill. And what delicious tunes you have been playing, Elizabeth, my dear. Edward will think you have got on when he hears you again. Why, you hardly limp at all this morning, Edith! I knew that the lotion I gave you last night would make you better."
Mrs. Hancock settled herself among her cushions. She had lately got a new one, rather stiff and resisting, which admirably supported the small of her back. The footstool from the stores continued to give complete satisfaction.
"And such a lovely day!" she said. "Just not too hot! Oh, what a jolt, and yet I hardly felt it at all with my new cushion. I see there has been a dreadful accident in a Welsh colliery. So sad for the poor widows and families! What a lot of misery there is in the world. But, as Mr. Martin says, we should not dwell on it too much, for fear of dimming our sense of thankfulness for all our blessings. And Edward? Have you heard from Edward? When is that naughty boy coming back? You will have to scold him, dear, for neglecting you while he absorbs himself in making money. There! Did you not hear the cuckoo just say 'Cuck'?—there is a rhyme about it. Yes, Edward is really quite greedy, stopping up in London like this to make money. Yet, after all, dear, you must consider that he is working for you, making himself rich for you."
Edith turned round sharply, so sharply, in fact, that her mother was startled, for sudden movements were not characteristic of her.
"Do you really think that is all, mother?" she said. "And if so, how about the Sundays? He was not here last Sunday, and he is not coming down for next Sunday."
"But what do you mean, Edith?" asked Mrs. Hancock. "You have not had a quarrel or anything?"
What Edith could not say to her cousin was possible now.
"No, we have not quarrelled," she said. "But what if he doesn't even care to quarrel? What if he has ceased to care at all? Or"—it came out with difficulty—"or if he cares for somebody else?"