That could not be quite so; she was not so happy as Bathsheba; she was not sure, but her right was the same for all that. Oh, it was joyful, it was delicious!
The little cunning arts of her sex, the small deceits in which she had disguised herself fell away from her now. She said to herself, “I will stop the nonsense about the marriage with Pete.” It was mean, it was foolish, it was miserable trifling, it was wicked, it was a waste of life—above all, it was doing a great, great wrong to her love of Philip! How could she ever have thought of it?
Next morning she was up and was dressing when Grannie came into the room with a cup of tea. “I feel so much better,” she said “that I think I'll go to Douglas by the coach today, mother.”
“Do, bogh,” said Grannie cheerfully, “and Pete shall go with you.”
“Oh, no; I must be quite alone, mother.”
“Aw, aw! A lil errand, maybe! Shopping is it? Presents, eh? Take your tay, then.” And Grannie rolled the blind, saying, “A beautiful morning you'll have for it, too. I can see the spire as plain as plain.” Then, turning about, “Did you hear the bells this morning, Kitty?”
“Why, what bells, mammy?” said Kate, through a mouthful of bread and butter.
“The bells for Christian Killip. Her old sweetheart took her to church at last. He wouldn't get rest at your father till he did—and her baby two years for Christmas. But what d'ye think, now? Robbie left her at the church door, and he's off by the Ramsey packet for England. Aw, dear, he did, though. 'You can make me marry her,' said he, 'but you can't make me live with her,' he said, and he was away down the road like the dust.”
“I don't think I'll go to Douglas to-day, mother,” said Kate in a broken voice. “I'm not so very well, after all.”
“Aw, the bogh!” said Grannie. “Making too sure of herself, was she? It's the way with them all when they're mending.”