“Hullo, Gervase! this is splendid—I haven’t seen you for ages.”
She was wearing a blue gingham overall, and with her face flushed at the fire, and her background of brick, scrubbed wood and painted canisters, she looked more like a farmer’s wife than he could ever have imagined possible. She had grown plump, too, since her marriage, and her eyes had changed—they looked bright, yet half asleep, like a cat’s eyes.
“I’ve come to say goodbye, Jen. I’m off to Thunders.”
“When?—Tomorrow?”
“No—this very evening. I’ll go straight on from here.”
“Gervase!”
She looked sad—she understood him less than ever now.
“Father Lawrence wrote two days ago and said they were able to take me—and I’ve nothing to wait for. Father won’t see me. I’ve written to Mother—I thought it better than farewells in the flesh.”
“And Stella?”
“I’ve said goodbye to her.”