“I know. So Hazel has gone alone?”
“I’ve had to send my maid with her, though I should have done that in any case. I don’t approve of young girls travelling about all over the country by themselves.”
“Lucky for you that you have girls who can be chaperoned! Look at poor little me—I can’t run after Morris, let alone send a maid with him, and have to sit here with a trembling heart, wondering all the time how things are going with him.”
“That’s always the way with a son, my dear, or a husband either,” said Bertha, determinedly emphasizing the fact that she, although not the mother of a son, also possessed a male appendage.
“It’s our part just to sit at home and work and wait, while they have all the fun,” Nina sighed. “A woman’s life is one long self-sacrifice,” she murmured.
“It is, when one has to mend and make and nurse, and all the rest of it,” cordially agreed Bertha, with one fleeting glance at Nina’s exquisite, empty hands, folded in her lap.
The glance was not lost upon Mrs. Severing, who presently said reflectively that Mr. Bartlett would no doubt call upon her shortly with some of his interminable business questions, and she must ask dearest Bertie to forgive her. It was not her way to put off a matter of business.
“Unpractical, dreamy creature that I am,” said Nina with a sad, sweet smile, “I have had too many years’ hard training in looking after this big estate, ever to be unbusinesslike. Mr. Bartlett always amuses me so much when he will say that I should make a better agent than he does.”
“I don’t wonder!” exclaimed Bertha, the dryness of her tone making it abundantly evident that her emphatic assent was directed towards Nina’s amusement, and not towards Mr. Bartlett’s opinion of his employer’s abilities. “No, no, dear. You must stick to your charming songs. They’re your work in the world,” smiled Bertha tolerantly.
“Dear Bertie! How sweet of you to say so. I’m always afraid of being just some silly, trivial flowery thing—not of any real use in the world.”