No, she would not go to the laundry this morning. The damp heat would be rather exhausting. Curry had been riding a nice bay last season which had looked up to her weight. She was getting rather tired of Jolly. She stopped, that had reminded her.
“Harry, you can take them both out to exercise to-morrow, I shall not go out, of course.”
“Very good’m.”
He would never ride now, all her hopes of getting him back to the love of it were broken, and he could not even go on a lead, for that was so dangerous. What would he do?
She went through the door in the wall into the kitchen garden. She called:
“Weston, Weston!”
There was Herbert pickin’ lettuces just for the chance of going to Mrs. Lane in the kitchen with them. He raised his bent body and touched his cap. She nodded.
Again she cried:
“Weston!”
A cry came from the other end, from the middle of the artichokes, the tops of which you could hardly see—it was a big kitchen garden. Weston appeared walking quickly. He took his cap off.