"I don't know what's to become of us poor men"—he rose lazily—"unless we turn into housewives."
"You better take a turn at it, just to see what it's like." That was Mrs. Thomas, vigorously exalting her ability.
"It was called husbandry once, wasn't it?" Mr. Thomas smiled in enjoyment of his joke. "Must you go? It's very early. Let us drive you down."
"The walk will be just what we need——"
The evening was soft and black, with faint rustle in the autumn-crisped leaves of the trees that massed against the blue-black sky. Below them the river gleamed silver-dark. They went in silence down the hill, the gravel slipping under their heels. Then Catherine felt Charles groping for her hand, the warm pressure of his fingers.
"Rummy bunch of kids," he said. And then, "That woman can cook, but that's about all. She can't impart gentle manners." Catherine relaxed in content. He wasn't huffy. "Too bad you have to tell people like that what you're going to do. Let 'em see after you've succeeded, I say!"
"Oh!" Catherine's voice was sharp with delight. "You think I will!"
"Lord, yes. Of course. You've got the stuff."
Their clasped hands swinging like children's, they came to the foot of the hill.