Gwenda was silent.
"I'm coming all right, tell her."
"Well, but what day? We'd better fix it. Don't come on a Tuesday or a
Friday, I'll be out."
"I must come when I can."
LX
She went on a Tuesday.
She had had tea with her father first. Meal-time had become sacred to the Vicar and he hated her to be away for any one of them.
She walked the four miles, going across the moor under Karva and loitering by the way, and it was past six before she reached Morfe.
She was shown into the room that was once Rowcliffe's study. It had been Mary's drawing-room ever since last year when the second child was born and they turned the big room over the dining-room into a day nursery. Mary had made it snug and gay with cushions and shining, florid chintzes. There were a great many things in rosewood and brass; a piano took the place of Rowcliffe's writing table; a bureau and a cabinet stood against the wall where his bookcases had been; and a tall palm-tree in a pot filled the little window that looked on to the orchard.
She had only to close her eyes and shut out these objects and she saw the room as it used to be. She closed them now and instantly she opened them again, for the vision hurt her.