Now and then she heard the loose lick of a plasterer’s brush. The workmen outside were whistling blithely and calling to each other. They all seemed to be named Bill. She sat down on the couch and laughed foolishly. Why was the workingman always called Bill?
Nettie, the supercilious smirk stronger than usual on her pretty face, came in to ask for the grocer’s list; the man was at the back door waiting for orders. She gave it, forgetting nothing—table salt, bedroom candles, matches, more turpentine—they had their own beeswax—all the irritating, narrow things that make up the sum total of a well-managed house. When the girl had gone, she sat down, listening to the fluty whistles and rough voices outside, and wondering if she would ever again give the order for the grocer.
She was a weathercock. Hadn’t she said that she would stay and be Jethro’s wife? Edred had not been disappointed—but then he took everything with a hard, cynical philosophy. She was to be Jethro’s wife. Then why did she listen so intently for the opening and shutting of doors; why gasp and spring to her feet at a footstep?
She was standing, the checked duster in one hand, the other painfully at her side, when Jethro came in. Her white face was all lines and furrows.
“I’ve given Edred the notes,” he said shortly. “He wants to be off as soon as possible. I shan’t go to the Flagon House; very likely I shall meet old Crisp at market to-morrow. We’ll all drive to the station in the wagonette after dinner.”
He looked annoyed; the two hundred pounds had gone against the grain; he was naturally close-fisted—it was the quality which had made the fortunes of his house. Presently his face lighted, and he said:
“What color would you like them to paint the outside of the place? The foreman suggests chocolate, but I fancy a nice green.”
“It must be white,” she said positively. “That is fashionable now, and so clean and fresh—in the country.”
“Then I’ll tell him white. You’d like to see the last of Edred? We might drive round by Turle on the way back; Nancy will be upset—I thought there would be a match there.”
She didn’t answer; only rubbed viciously at the polished table.