“So do I. But I’m glad I’m going. They’re full up really, but Father Lawrence said I could sleep at the farm.”
“Then you’ll have to get up early. It’s fifteen minutes’ walk from the Abbey, and Mass is at half-past six and of obligation.”
“Never mind—I’m used to hardships, though I know you think I wallow in unseemly luxuries. But I’m getting keen on this, Father. Whether I like it or not, I know it will be exciting.”
“Exciting! That’s a nice thing to expect of a retreat.”
“Well, religion generally is exciting, isn’t it, so the more I get the more exciting it’s likely to be.”
“Um—too exciting perhaps.”
“What do you mean, Father?”
But Luce would not tell him, and in another minute they were at Dr. Mount’s cottage, where they always had mid-day dinner on Sundays. It was cooked by Stella herself, helped by the little maid, so she did not appear till it was ready. She had changed her frock and bore no traces of her labours beyond a face heated by the fire. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright—she looked absurdly young. How old was she, Gervase wondered? Twenty-eight or twenty-nine? But she did not look a bit over twenty. She did not look as old as he did. It must be her vitality which kept her young like this—her vitality ... and the way she did her hair. He smiled.
“What are you smiling at, Gervase?”
“At you, Stella.”