“But Cissy ordered it this morning.”
“I didn’t,” Cissy said. “I forgot.”
“Oh, Cissy——”
“You needn’t blame Cissy. You ought to have seen to it yourself.... She was a good nurse, Harriett, before she was my wife.”
“My dear, your nurse had nothing else to do. Your wife has to clean and mend for you, and cook your dinner and mow the lawn and nail the carpets down.” While she said it she looked at Robin as if she adored him.
All through tea time he talked about his health and about the sanitary dustbin they hadn’t got. Something had happened to him. It wasn’t like him to be wrapped up in himself and to talk about dustbins. He spoke to his wife as if she had been his valet. He didn’t see that she was perspiring, worn out by her struggle with the carpet.
“Just go and fetch me another cushion, Beatrice.”
She rose with tired patience.
“You might let her have her tea in peace,” Miss Walker said, but she was gone before they could stop her.
When Harriett left she went with her to the garden gate, panting as she walked. Harriett noticed pale, blurred lines on the edges of her lips. She thought: She isn’t a bit strong. She praised the garden.