'It's your own fault then, dearest,' said Anna wistfully. 'Life is what we make it. Joy won't come unbidden; we must help to prepare the ground or there'll only be a weedy plant that will wither in the sun. The joys of one are the cares of another. I suppose Dad and the children are cares to you.'
Mrs. Severn was silent. Anna turned, and leaning against the window looked down into the garden. Its midsummer brilliancy had faded with the sunshine, and the tangle of flowers, missing the caresses of breeze and sun and bees, looked subdued and shame-faced. At least so she fancied. A dewy sweetness hung above, floating up to her in incense-like whiffs. The landscape was becoming neutral. Above the valley there spread, as she looked, a haze of blue smoke from a cottage by the beck at the corner where it tumbled into the Woss.
'Mr. Borlase rode past about six,' said Mrs. Severn suddenly. She scrutinised Anna as she spoke.
'He would be going into Wherndale. Perhaps he'll come in for supper on his way home. Dad will be back soon.'
'You might let him see baby, she's been restless. But John is not coming home to-night. I've had a note from the office; he's gone to Scotland on business, something important occurred, and nothing would satisfy the Admiral but that he should start at once. And there's a letter from Rocozanne, from Ambrose, somewhere,' she added vaguely, searching in the folds of her dressing-gown. As that was useless she got up, and, while shaking her draperies, discovered it on the floor. Anna picked it up. It was addressed to her. She turned it over, half expecting to find the seal broken. Mrs. Severn had had a habit of opening all the Rocozanne letters until lately, when Anna had firmly expostulated. This, however, was intact.
'Why didn't you send it down?' said Anna. 'How long have you had it? You could have thrown it out when you heard me in the garden. You must have heard me there.'
'It was enclosed and I forgot it. John's news upset me. Really, the Admiral might have a little consideration for me. Now read the letter, Anna. Is there any news from Rocozanne? I suppose the Kerrs' yacht won't have got to Jersey yet; they can't have seen Miss Marlowe?'
'Oh dear no! They were only leaving Zante on the 15th. But I haven't time to read it now,' said Anna. Reproach had kindled an unexpected brilliancy over her whole face, and she looked at Mrs. Severn with eyes that suddenly glowed with finely controlled anger. 'Every one is busy because of the hay, and I'm going to see the children to bed. Come, children, kiss mother. What, Joan, pick-a-pack?'
She knelt for Joan to clasp her neck, then tucking her little fat legs under her arms, rose and careered on to the landing. Joan was not too tired to gurgle with laughter at the jogging. The others ran after them, having dabbed random kisses on Mrs. Severn's face and throat. They left the door wide open in spite of her charge to them to shut it.
'Netta, Jack, Jack,' she called. But they were heedless.