‘Oh, I’ve read them. Yes, that’ll do nicely. Read them “The Ugly Duckling,” Adela; it’s a beautiful story. I thought perhaps you were going to read something—something instructive, you know.’
Adela laughed. It was Adela’s laugh still, but not what it used to be.
‘No, I want to amuse them. They get enough instruction in school. I hope soon to give another evening to the older girls. I wonder whether you would like to come and help me then?’
‘If only you would let me! There is nothing I should like more than to do something for you.’
‘But you mustn’t do it for me. It must be for the girls’ sake.’
‘Yes, for theirs as well, but ever so much more for yours, dear. You can’t think how glad I am that you have asked me.’
Again the little hand was put forward, and this time Adela took it. But she did not soften as she once would have done. With eyes still far away, she talked for some minutes of the hopes with which her life was filled. Frequently she made mention of her husband, and always as one to whom it was a privilege to devote herself. Her voice had little failings and uncertainties now and then, but this appeared to come of excessive feeling.
They rose and walked from the wood together.
‘Alfred wants us to go to Malvern for a fortnight,’ Letty said, when they were near the gates of the Manor. ‘We were wondering whether you could come, Adela?’
‘No, I can’t leave Wanley,’ was the reply. ‘My husband’—she never referred to Mutimer otherwise than by this name—‘spoke of the seaside the other day, but we decided not to go away at all. There is so much to be done.’