“The world needs its little speedwell flowers just as much as its sturdy oak-trees,” laughed Bertha tenderly.
“Yes, dear,” said Nina deftly. “There is room for Mary as well as for Martha. It always comforts me to remember that.”
Comfort, however, was not the predominant expression on the face of Mrs. Tregaskis as she heard her friend’s favourite Scriptural parallel once more enunciated.
“If you’re really waiting for Mr. Bartlett, darling, I mustn’t keep you,” she said rather hastily. “Anyhow, I must get back to my invalid. She’s much better to-day, and only fretting at the idea of my having missed the Scotch visits. Of course one had been rather longing for a breath of Scottish air, this weather, but I dare say I shall manage without. It’s an economy, at all events.”
She gave her cheery, plucky laugh.
“How is Morris enjoying Norway? Has he got over his love-lornity?”
Nina laughed a little.
“I think he has. I’ve had a very cheery letter from him, raving about the fiords and things.”
Bertha looked slightly puzzled.
“The——? Oh, you mean the fjords! Yes, of course they must be perfectly gorgeous at this time of year,” she remarked thoughtfully, with the air of a connoisseuse.