The big, gray-headed man looked down at her with much of the affection of a father. His hands had given her confirmation and joined her hand in marriage.
“Doubt is a great distorting glass,” he said, simply; “the difficulties of life decrease the moment they are faced.”
“I am glad you are on our side.”
“I should be a poor Christian if I were not.”
A figure in a pink dress, sumptuous and perfect as to the milliner’s craft, glided across the grass, and cast a shadow at Catherine’s feet.
“How d’you do, Kate? You have surprised us all—assuredly.”
The two women touched hands. Betty Steel’s drawl ascended towards patronage. She assumed the air of a mistress of a salon whose salutation decided destinies and dispensed fame.
“How is Dr. Murchison? This long rest must have done him good.”
“Thanks. My husband is very well.”
“I am afraid we all misunderstood your plans. We thought you had left Roxton for good. I suppose Dr. Murchison will not expose himself again to the strain of general practice. Surgical cases are such a responsibility.”