“Proud woman!” said Elsie, “I see in your smile the measure of your penstemons; in your eyes the pride of your hollyhocks; in your whole demeanour the glory of your garden. I don’t believe there is any woman more difficult to bear with than she for whom all things grow.”
Mrs. Sloane supposed it was not of gardens, though, that Elsie had come to talk. Her look was not of gardens. Their look of peace was not hers: there was something of aggression in her manner. It could not be directed against a woman so peaceable, so peace-loving as herself. She smiled, and Elsie was bound to admit she was right.
“Yet you are an aggravating woman, with your perfections always before us. Tommy Wandle told me last night he had been to see your new pig-sties. He was so awe-struck that I asked him what they were like, and he said, ‘I thought they was a post-office, miss.’ Now a woman whose pig-sties are like post-offices is not a neighbour to be loved as one’s self, but lend me your attention, for I am in trouble.”
There was no nearer way to the heart of Mrs. Sloane than this.
She begged Elsie to tell her everything, which Elsie did, and Mrs. Sloane was delightfully interested. She asked just the right questions—a great art this, and one that makes dear friends of those who possess that power of discrimination. She was shocked at Shan’t’s love of change, and hoped with Elsie that nothing of an unhappy nature had occurred at Glenbossie. It was possible, of course, that Diana had had some little love-affair.
“Impossible!” said Elsie, “she would have told me.”
“She may be coming home in order to do that.”
Of course, that was possible, Elsie admitted, and added: “There is a Captain Hastings there.”
Mrs. Sloane wondered if he could be the son of her old friend? If he were and resembled his father and grandfather, she had every reason to believe the danger to Diana must have been considerable—it was quite possible she was coming home to bring good news.
“Then there is Mr. St. Jermyn too.”