"Don't leave it for another ten years," she said, "before letting me know what is happening to you. We didn't get on very well together as children; but we mustn't let him think we're not friends. It would hurt him."
She spoke quite seriously, as if she were expecting him any moment to open the door and join them. Involuntarily Matthew glanced round the room. Nothing seemed altered. The worn carpet, the faded curtains, Abner's easy chair, his pipe upon the corner of the mantelpiece beside the vase of spills.
"It is curious," he said, "finding this vein of fancy, of tenderness in you. I always regarded you as such a practical, unsentimental young person."
"Perhaps we neither of us knew each other too well, in those days," she answered.
The small servant entered with the tea.
"What have you been doing with yourself?" he asked, drawing his chair up to the table.
She waited till the small servant had withdrawn.
"Oh, knocking about," she answered. "Earning my living."
"It seems to have agreed with you," he repeated, smiling.
"It's all right now," she answered. "It was a bit of a struggle at first."