“Perhaps it’s all three together; but I’m all right. There’s nothing the matter with me. Every man has his blue days, you know.”
“Yes, but the last month you’ve had too many; and there must be some reason for it. There’s nothin’ so refreshin’ as gettin’ away from your best friends, once in a while. I guess you need a change—pinin’ for the city, maybe. Sakes alive! I can’t see how folks can live that way—all crowded up together, like a lot of prisons.”
“You don’t care to visit in the city, then?”
“Not on your life!”
“But a change is good for everyone. Don’t you ever get away from Durford for a few weeks?”
“Not very often. What with decidin’ where to go, and fussin’ to get ready, and shuttin’ up the house, it’s more trouble than its worth. Then there’s so 87 many things to ’tend to when you get home.”
“But don’t you ever visit relatives?”
“Not on your life, unless I’m subpœna-ed by the coroner: though of course we do get together to celebrate a family funeral or a wedding now and then. Visitin’ is no joke, I tell you. No sir, I’m old enough to know when I’m well off, and home’s the best place for me. I want my own table, and my own bed when it comes night.” She paused, and then remarked meditatively:
“I went down to visit in New York once.”
“Didn’t you enjoy your visit?” Maxwell inquired. “New York’s my home-city.”