Julia was safely out of the road, or perhaps young Mrs. Marksby would not have said so much.
“I do wish, dear, you would get out of this depressing neighborhood. I assure you I feel quite a different woman since I was married and got away from this depressing place.”
“One generally does when one gets married,” said Regina, with a slight smile.
“Yes, I know, dear, but it takes a month of Sundays to get here even with a motor. I wish you would persuade daddy to come and live in the West End.”
“It is not at all unlikely that we may do so, dear, a little later on. Oh—what’s that?”
“That” was nothing more important than the knock of the postman.
“I will go,” said Maudie, and Maudie did go. “Two letters for Julia and four for you.”
“One from your father?” said Mrs. Whittaker, with an eagerness which, for the life of her, she could not suppress.
“Nothing in daddy’s handwriting,” said Maudie. “Mother dear, have you heard from daddy since he left home?”
“Oh yes, darling.”