“Ah, yes,” said Winifred, “a plaything when not a slave! I have my own ideas, dear Mrs Balderson, but you mustn’t be shocked at me. You must allow that happy marriages are rare.”
“If you mean perfect marriages, perhaps so. But happy marriages—no, I can’t agree with you. I know as many happy-together husbands and wives as mothers and daughters, or brothers and sisters, or any other relations,” said Mrs Balderson.
“I am using the word ‘happy’ in a wider and deeper sense than yours,” said Winifred, a little loftily. “But we must talk about it some other time. I flatter myself I have thought it out pretty thoroughly.”
“At one—no, two-and-twenty?” said her hostess, with a good-humoured smile.
“I am four-and-twenty—past,” said Winifred. They had reached Mrs Balderson’s house by this time.
“Come and have some tea before you take off your things,” she said. “It is sure to be ready. And then you can write your letters up-stairs if you like. I hope the servants keep up a good fire in your room, Winifred?”
“Oh dear yes,” said Winifred. “Not that we really need one. London houses are so much warmer than country ones, you know.”
“Yes—we have a few advantages over you, I allow,” said Mrs Balderson. “This house is very warm though it is commonplace. But even that must be a change to you after your wonderful old home, with its quaint nooks and crannies and odd-shaped rooms, inexplicable staircases, and—oh, that reminds me. You must tell Lady Campion all about your ghost when we see her again. Ghosts are one of her manias.”
A slight frown showed itself on Winifred’s face at the words.
“You know I don’t believe in it,” she said. “It is so silly.”