“It is such a dear little place.” And the young wife’s eyes were full of tenderness. “I want James to keep the gray hairs from coming too fast. I shall lure him away to Marley Down, one day in seven, if I can.”
“Of course, my dear, you can persuade him.”
“Jim has such an obstinate conscience. He gives his best to people, and naturally they overwork him. We have rivals, too, to consider. I know that Betty Steel is jealous of us, but then—”
A touch of wistfulness on Catherine’s face brought Miss Carmagee’s optimism to the rescue.
“You need not fear the Steels, my dear.”
“No, perhaps not.”
“Many people—I, for one—don’t trust them. The woman is too thin to be sincere,” and Miss Carmagee’s bust protested the fact.
“Betty’s kind enough in her way.”
“When she gets her way, my dear. But tell me about the cottage. Are the drains quite safe, and are there plenty of cupboards?”
Catherine was launched into multitudinous details—the staining of floors, the choosing of tapestries, the latest bargains in old furniture. It eased her to talk to this placid woman, for, despite her courage, her heart was sad in her and full of forebodings for her husband. The truth had become as a girdle of thorns about her, worn both day and night. She bore the smart of it without a flicker of the lids, and carried her head bravely before the world.