"Yes," said Rowcliffe.
He was grave and curt.
And Mary remembered that that was what Gwenda had—blue eyes and dark hair.
It was what Gwenda's children might have had, too. She felt that she had made him think of Gwenda.
Then Essy came and took the baby from her.
"'E's too 'eavy fer yo', Miss," she said. She laughed as she took him; she gazed at him with pride and affection unabashed. His one fault, for Essy, was that, though he had got Greatorex's eyes, he had not got Greatorex's hair.
Mary and Rowcliffe went back together.
"You're coming in to tea, aren't you?" she said.
"Rather." He had got into the habit again of looking in at the Vicarage for tea every Wednesday. They were having tea in the orchard now. And in June the Vicarage orchard was a pleasanter place than the surgery.
It was in fact a very pleasant place. Pleasanter than the gray and amber drawing-room.