Kathleen entered. The untidy table did not trouble her in the least; she was accustomed to things of that sort at home. She sat down, helped herself to a thick slice of bread-and-butter, and ate it, while burning thoughts filled her mind.
"Have some tea. You haven't touched any," said Mrs. Tennant.
"I'd rather have cold water, please," Kathleen replied.
She went to the sideboard, filled a glass, and drank it off.
"Mrs. Tennant," she said when she had finished, "what
possessed you to live in England? You had all the world to choose from. Why did you come to a horrible place like this?"
"But I like it," said Mrs. Tennant.
"You don't look as if you did. I never saw such a worn-out poor body. Are you awfully old?"
"You would think me so," replied Mrs. Tennant, with a smile; "but as a matter of fact I am not forty yet."
"Not forty!" said Kathleen. "But forty's an awful age, isn't it? I mean, you want crutches when you are forty, don't you?"