Pat surveyed her anxiously, and she saw that although her sister’s physical health seemed perfect, her eyes were those of a woman who lies awake at night thinking.
“Claudia, old girl, you want a change. Come to Canada with me next month. Do—it will do you a lot of good.”
Her sister shook her head and absent-mindedly wiped her eyes on the serviette. “Go on, tell me more about it.”
Then Pat, her eyes shining with excitement, told how an article on the future of women as fruit-farmers in Canada had fired her with a desire to do something real, as she expressed it, to get out of the smug, bandboxy life she was living. She had consulted Colin, who encouraged her, and all through the summer they had been investigating various farms that were for sale, and only a few days ago had they finally settled on one in the Winnipeg district. “Colin was no end of a help to me,” concluded Pat, “because, of course, I should have been done in the eye like Martin Chuzzlewit was. But this is a good farm and belongs to a woman who wants to give it up, but she has consented to stop with me as long as I want her, so I can learn the whole box of tricks. Claudia, I know I shall love it. That’s what I meant by apples just now. I shall send you barrel-loads, simply barrel-loads.”
Claudia asked if their father and mother had given their consent, though Patricia was of age and had her own income.
“Yes, in a sort of way. They think I’ll come back in a few months, but I shan’t. I told you long ago I was a throw-back. I love the earth and all that pertains to it, and what’s the good of wasting my youth and energies in what the papers call Society? It’s all right for those who like it. I’m not slinging any adjectives at it; but I’m not made that way. I want more scope. But, seriously, will you sail with me next month for a holiday to see me settled?”
“I should love it, but you see—I’ve got a husband.” Then, half-smilingly, yet with a touch of sarcasm, she added, “I’ve become useful to him, Pat. He complimented me the other day on my neatness and method in arranging some documents for him.”
Pat walked to the little window and said something to herself that was very like “Damn!”
“But he’s better, isn’t he?” she said, turning round again. “I shall never forget how scared I was when they got him back to the hotel at Le Touquet. They had to support him on the grass-roller. I was afraid he was dead, he looked so awful. I begged him not to go on playing, but you might as well ask an elephant to tread in a whisper. It was that climb up to the fourteenth that did it. But his heart is all right again now? Does one quite get over a thing like that? It’s all vague to me. What’s the anatomy of a heart? Does something heal up?”
“He will have to be more careful than formerly not to over-exert himself or get excited. But Neeburg says there are many people with worse trouble who live to be ninety. But let’s come out into the sunshine and sit under a tree!” She went to the door which opened on the small garden. “Oh! isn’t it a glorious day! Come and tell me more about the apples!”