"They were my mother's. I do nothing."
"Oh, I see." (They were going home now.) "I was wondering what on earth you found to do here."
"I? A great many things. Business chiefly. My father is secretary to the Primrose League. I write all his letters for him."
"That's one way of being secretary to the Primrose League."
"The usual way, I think. Secretaries generally have under-secretaries, haven't they? My father dictates."
Durant smiled. He could see him doing it. "What else does Colonel Tancred do?"
"He does no end of things. All the business of the estate; and he speaks, at meetings, everywhere. He has lectured——"
It was pathetic, her eagerness to vindicate his intellect, to record his achievements, to convince Durant that she was proud of him, not to let him see.
For the rest of the way she was silent, the light died out of her eyes with every turning, and by the time they had reached Coton Manor Miss Tancred was herself again.
At whist that evening nobody was pleased. The Colonel looked sulky and offended, possibly at Durant's disaffection; Durant was moodier than ever, and even Mrs. Fazakerly seemed depressed. Miss Tancred remained imperturbable and indifferent, she won every trick without turning a hair, but when it was all over she left the table abruptly. She was visibly distressed. Mrs. Fazakerly gazed after her with an affectionate stare. She turned to Durant.