"Yes, if only I had pearls. I should look lovely in black and pearls."
"Pearls," Helen said slowly, "would suit me."
"You're better without them."
"I shall never have them."
"When I've a lot of money I'll give you some."
"Thank you," Helen said.
"Because," Miriam called out when she was half way up the stairs, "I'm going to marry a rich man."
"It would be wise," Helen answered, and went to the open door.
She could hear Notya moving in her bedroom, and she wondered how a sister must feel at the approach of a brother she had not seen for many years. She knew that if she should ever be parted from John or Rupert there would be no shyness at their meeting and no effusion: things would be just as they had been, for she was certain of an affection based on understanding, and now the thought of her brothers kept her warm in spite of the daunting coldness of the light lying on the moor and the fact that doors were opening to a stranger.
She checked a little sigh and stepped on to the gravel path, rounded the house and crossed the garden to find John locking up the hen-house for the night. He glanced at her but did not speak, and she stood with her hands clasped before her and watched the swaying of the poplars. The leaves were spreading and soon they would begin their incessant whispering while they peeped through the windows of the house to see what the Canipers were doing.