“I should hardly have thought——” began Barnabas.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” interrupted Miss Mason. “You’ve never had a baby. Neither have I, for the matter of that.”
She looked up and caught Barnabas’ eyes fixed on her.
“Barnabas, you’re disgraceful!” she exclaimed. “I never know what I say when I begin to talk to you.”
“Therein lies the charm of your conversation,” he assured her. “It is always so unpremeditated.”
“Huh!” said Miss Mason, and she returned to her knitting.
She looked exactly the same as she had looked six months previously, except that there was a new and curious radiance about her eyes. They looked as if they were absorbing happiness, and giving it forth again in actual light. Also her black dress had given place to a grey one.
The style being unprocurable at any modern shop, she had engaged a sewing-woman to make it for her. The woman was firmly persuaded that Miss Mason was quite mad, but finding her an extremely generous customer, she was perfectly ready to seam grey cashmere into any pattern Miss Mason might require. She had once gone so far as to announce that the costume was picturesque. Something in her manner as she made the statement had annoyed Miss Mason.
“Picturesque! Nothing of the kind!” Miss Mason had retorted. “It is serviceable and comfortable, and suited to a woman of my age. Some women of sixty make fools of themselves in a couple of yards of silk nineteen inches wide. I make a fool of myself in twelve yards of cashmere forty inches wide. That’s all the difference. But I prefer my own folly.” And the sewing-woman had retired crestfallen.
“I saw Paul yesterday,” remarked Barnabas after a moment.