Mrs. Gladwyne looked grateful; but although she was very tranquil there was something in her manner that hinted at uncertainty.
“You will finish the book and these pictures some day,” she said. “What will you do then?”
“I really don’t know. Perhaps I shall start another. If not, there is always something I can turn my hand to. So many things seem to need doing—village matters alone would find me some occupation.”
The elder lady considered this.
“Yes,” she agreed with diffidence. “I’m now and then afraid everything’s not quite so satisfactory as it used to be. The cottages don’t look so pretty or well cared for, the people are not so content—some of them are even inclined to be bitter and resentful. Of course, things change, our relations with our dependents among them; but I feel that people like the Marples, living as they do, have a bad effect. They form a text for the dissatisfied.”
Millicent contented herself with a nod. She could not explain that in spite of the changing mode of thought it is still possible for an old-fashioned landlord to retain almost everybody’s good will. Sympathy and tactful advice are appreciated, though not effusively, and even a bluff, well-meant reproof is seldom resented. But when rents are rigorously exacted by a solicitor’s or banker’s clerk, and repairs are cut down, when indifference takes the place of judicious interest, it is hardly logical to look for the cordial relations that might exist. Nasmyth’s tenants stopped and exchanged a cheery greeting or a jest with him; most of Gladwyne’s looked grim when he or his friends, the Marples, passed.
Then tea was brought in and Millicent found pleasure in watching her guest. Mrs. Gladwyne made a picture, she thought, sitting with the dainty china in her beautiful hands; she possessed the grace and something of the stateliness which is associated with the old régime.
“How quick your people are,” she commented. “You rang and the things were brought in. Our staff is large and expensive, but as a rule they keep us waiting. Though you paint and go out so much, you have the gift of making a home comfortable. It really is a gift; one that should not be wasted.”
Millicent grew serious. It looked as if her companion were coming to the point, and this became plainer when Mrs. Gladwyne proceeded.
“Do you think the life you contemplate—writing books on birds and animals—is the best or most natural one for a woman?”