She had come to ask Annette how she had contrived the more or less smooth-running of household affairs in Fern Square and Burdley Park, but found herself instead pondering marriage as here represented and also as applied to herself. She asked Annette what she did all day long. Annette told her: she sewed, mended, thought of Bennett, went out to buy his supper.
“A little different from home?” suggested Minna.
“Of course,” replied Annette, “I’d like more people. It’s hard to make it go all the day round when there’s only one. But then, I read. I usedn’t to be able to do that.”
“How did you manage at home? I can’t.”
“I don’t think I managed at all. Bennett says I’m an awfully bad manager. There were such a lot of things to do that they had to be done.”
“How did you make the servant work?”
“I didn’t. I did it all myself. If she did anything I generally had to do it all over again. She lit the fires in the morning and cleaned the boots and all the nasty work. I think in their own homes they leave all the rest undone.”
Minna rose from her seat and demanded to be shown the bedroom. This was very ugly. She made a wry face.
“Do you like it?—being married, I mean.”