“Nonsense! How’s that?” asked Hugh, with the easy forgetfulness of a man who does not realize the straitened life in which he never had a part.
“I never went away,” said Anne, simply. “There was no money. Once when I was a child, Miss Atkins took me for a day to Broadstairs. You remember Miss Atkins?”
“Old Thomas? She was Anne’s governess, and exactly like a tortoise-shell cat,” he explained turning to his wife. “Yes, what’s become of her?”
“Dead,” said Anne. “She died ten years ago.”
“Poor old thing!” returned Hugh perfunctorily. “Darling, won’t you show Anne her room, and then we can go for a walk before supper. Isn’t it warm here!” he exclaimed, leaning from the open window. “It’s so sheltered you see with the cliffs at the back. Make haste, Anne. We’ll take you on to the downs, and show you the sea to your heart’s content.”
At supper the talk was all about Hugh. His past adventures, his future prospects. He had worked hard, and was now partner of the promising sheep farm in New Zealand, to which next month he proposed to return with his wife.
“I tell Alice it won’t be a very gay existence for her. She doesn’t look much like a farmers wife, does she?” He threw her an admiring glance. “But she declares she won’t mind.”
“You’ll be there,” was Alice’s only comment.
“Oh yes! And there are neighbours too. Very jolly people. And Bob Holmes, that’s my partner, you know, Anne, is an awfully decent fellow. You’ll like his wife, Alice. She’s such a cheery little woman. Oh! it’s not so bad. And the climate’s splendid. Lord! how one misses the sun in this damp misty old country!”
“It will be lovely. I’m longing to go,” Alice exclaimed.