"Really?" Sylvia opened her eyes. "That doesn't sound very nice certainly. Haven't you got a verandah even—I beg its pardon, a stoep?"
"We have nothing at all that makes for comfort," declared Mrs.
Merston, with bitter emphasis. "We live like pigs in a sty!"
"Good heavens!" said Sylvia. "I shouldn't like that."
"No, you wouldn't. It takes a little getting used to. But you'll go through the mill presently. All we farmers' wives do. You and Burke Ranger won't go on in this Garden of Eden style very long."
Sylvia laughed with a touch of uncertainty. "I suppose it's a mistake to expect too much of life anywhere," she said. "But it's difficult to be miserable when one is really busy, isn't it? Anyhow one can't be bored."
"Are you really happy here?" Mrs. Merston asked point-blank, in the tone of one presenting a challenge.
Sylvia paused for a moment, only a moment, and then she answered,
"Yes."
"And you've been married how long? Six weeks?"
"About that," said Sylvia.
Mrs. Merston looked at her, and an almost cruel look came into her pale eyes. "Ah! You wait a little!" she said. "You're young now. You've got all your vitality still in your veins. Wait till this pitiless country begins to get hold of you! Wait till you begin to bear children, and all your strength is drained out of you, and you still have to keep on at the same grinding drudgery till you're ready to drop, and your husband comes in and laughs at you and tells you to buck up, when you haven't an ounce of energy left in you! See how you like the prison-house then! All your young freshness gone and nothing left—nothing left!"