“I'll have a try; and don't you worry!”
Lady Malloring turned away. Her soreness still wanted salve.
“Those two young people,” she murmured, “said some very unpleasant things to me. The boy, I believe, might have some good in him, but the girl is simply terrible.”
“H'm! I think just the reverse, you know.”
“They'll come to awful grief if they're not brought up sharp. They ought to be sent to the colonies to learn reality.”
Malloring nodded.
“Come out, Mildred, and see how they're getting on with the new vinery.” And they went out together through the French window.
The vinery was of their own designing, and of extraordinary interest. In contemplation of its lofty glass and aluminium-cased pipes the feeling of soreness left her. It was very pleasant, standing with Gerald, looking at what they had planned together; there was a soothing sense of reality about that visit, after the morning's happening, with its disappointment, its reminder of immorality and discontent, and of folk ungrateful for what was done for their good. And, squeezing her husband's arm, she murmured:
“It's really exactly what we thought it would be, Gerald!”