Such she felt he was. As such she meant him to be. There was no science in her purpose, no clear argument of thought. No reason other than this first impression she had had can be traced to justify the determination to which she came.
To Mrs. Peverell she wrote asking if they could let her have their little room beneath the eaves of the thatch when, hearing it was vacant, she replied that she would come down for a day or two and see them first.
But before she went, one thing had she set herself to perform. Now her sisters must know. Her mind was prepared. It was Hannah she determined to tell.
V
It was a morning in the middle of the week, after the children's lessons were over. With eyes that recorded intangible impressions to her mind, Mary watched her eldest sister kissing each one as they went. With each one, it was not merely a disposal, but a parting; not a formality but an act, an act that had its meaning, however far removed it might have been from Hannah's appreciation of it.
"What do you feel about those children?" she asked her, suddenly and unexpectedly when the last one had gone and the door had closed.
"Feel about them?"
Hannah looked up in surprised bewilderment.
"I've never thought what I felt," she added. "They're darlings--is that what you mean?"
"No--that's not quite what I mean. Of course they're darlings. Do you ever think what you feel, Hannah?"