"No," she answered; "but sometimes I have thought that I should like to go with Margaret while her father is away."
"Did you think that, mother dear?" Margaret asked, in surprise.
"Better come and stay with me. I could take you both in."
Hannah was pouring out the tea, grasping the teapot with a firm hand, putting it down with determination on the tray when the cups were filled. "Mother is better where she is," she said, without looking up. "Towsey, there is no slop-basin on the table. I hold with staying at home, Mr. Carringford, though I've sometimes thought I'd like to go up myself for the May meetings."
"May meetings? Of course—I know. I thought you meant races at first—but it is Exeter Hall you are thinking of? I'm afraid Mr. and Miss Vincent didn't go there when they were in town."
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Carringford."
"Good Lord, what an ogress!" he thought. "They had a pretty good time, though," he said, aloud.
"Margaret has told me about it so often," Mrs. Vincent said, and Tom, turning to look at her while she spoke, realized suddenly that this mother of Margaret, who had grown old and gray, was beautiful. He looked round the living-room; his eyes lingered on the black beams and the great fireplace and the red-tiled floor; it made a peaceful picture, he thought, in spite of the ogress.
"Did she tell you about Miss Hunstan?" he asked. "It was rather lucky coming across her."