Mrs. Temperley sat down and laughed. Whereupon the other’s face lightened and she joined in the laugh at her own expense, settling into the easy chair that her hostess had prepared for her, with a gesture of helplessness and comfort.
“Well, in spite of that time at the station, I’m glad I came. It seems so long since I have seen you, dear Hadria, and the last time you know you were very unhappy, almost mad——”
“Yes, yes; never mind about that,” interposed Mrs. Temperley hastily, setting her teeth together.
“You take things too hard, too hard,” said Miss Du Prel. “I used to think I was bad in that way, but I am phlegmatic compared with you. One would suppose that——”
“Valeria, don’t, don’t, don’t,” cried Mrs. Temperley. “I can’t stand it.” Her teeth were still set tight and hard, her hands were clenched.
“Very well, very well. Tell me what you have been making of this ridiculous old world, where everything goes wrong and everybody is stupid or wicked, or both.”
Mrs. Temperley’s face relaxed a little, though the signs of some strong emotion were still visible.
“Well, to answer the general by the particular, I have spent the morning, accompanied by a nice young brood of Cochin-China fowls, in Craddock churchyard.”
“Oh, I hate a churchyard,” exclaimed Miss Du Prel, with a shudder. “It makes one think of the hideous mockery of life, and the more one would like to die, the worse seems the brutality of death and his hideous accompaniments. It is such a savage denial of all human aspirations and affections and hopes. Ah, it is horrible!” The sharply-outlined face grew haggard and white, as its owner crouched over the fire.
“Heaven knows! but it was very serene and very lovely up there this morning.”