Here were the lamps. Appalling it was, the way some people were installing electricity, oil was much more satisfactory. They had always had oil and always would. Electricity was so hard and bright that it was bad for your eyes.
“William, Mrs. Palmer will be in for tea to-day.”
She was late, and that was wrong of Mabel, she knew how it irritated her to have to wait. She needn’t have hurried so down from the village. That roof in Mrs. Cross’s cottage would have to be seen to, it was in a terrible state, she ought to have been told before. Would the next people take any trouble? But then that wasn’t settled yet.
She was restless to-day, she hadn’t been able to settle down to anything, this thing had been weighing on her mind so. And there were the household accounts to do, she was late with them, and they should be interesting this month. Mrs. Lane would have been going through an orgy of waste, the affair with Herbert would be sure to make her careless. They would have to take sixpence off the income tax this time, things couldn’t go on as they were, and the papers were full of it. Of course, giving this up would save money, but then there would be no flowers and no horses. So much of one would go with it. Mabel was late, late.
A motor. Ah, the Cadillac. Really, it was too bad of her, and it was not as if she ever had anything to do. Well, anyway, they could get down to business now.
The door opened.
“Mrs. Palmer.”
“My dear Emily, I’m so sorry I’m late. You see, my dear, the Cadillac broke down on the way, so tiresome of it. How are you?”
“Very well, thank you, Mabel dear; and you?”
They lightly kissed.