“I shall miss this garden,” said Cecily, suddenly. “I have worked in it for three years. Every woman ought to have a garden—then at least she gets some of the roses of life. Are you happy?” she added, almost in the same breath, with startling abruptness.
Mrs. Summers hesitated. “Yes,” she returned, finally, “in a placid way—yes. But then, I’m a practical woman. I always left the stars out of my calculations, didn’t I? Jack and I suited each other. We have continued to suit each other. I never expected him to be the lover of romance. Poor dear! he’s not at all made for the part. But he wears well, you know, Cis. And,” her voice softened, “I have the babies.”
Cecily was silent. “Yours is the sane view of life,” she said at last.
“I know; though in moods, fortunately rare, I would exchange it for an insane one,” returned Mrs. Summers, with a laugh. “Though I leave the stars out, I don’t forget they are there.”
“I wonder?” returned Cecily.
“Are you going to say anything about this to your husband?” asked Mrs. Summers, with apparent irrelevance.
“No,” said Cecily, briefly.
“And Mayne? Are you going to have him down here?”
“Yes. Why not? If Robert wishes it, how can I object? I shall be very glad to see Dick again,” she added.
“Is it wise?”