Canterton stayed chatting with Mrs. Carfax for twenty minutes, while Eve sat by in silence, watching them with an air of dispassionate curiosity. Mrs. Carfax was just a child, and Canterton was at his best with children. Eve found herself thinking how much bigger, gentler, and more patient his nature was than hers. Things that irritated her, made him smile. He was one of the few masterful men who could bear with amiable stupidity.
When he had said good-bye to her mother, Eve went with him to the gate.
“Good-bye. Enjoy yourself. And when you write to Lynette, send me a word or two.”
He held her hand for two or three seconds, and his eyes looked into hers.
“You will be delighted with Latimer.”
“Yes. And I will try to bring you back what you want.”
“I have no doubts as to that.”
She stood for a moment at the gate, watching his broad figure disappear between the green hedgerows of the lane. A part of herself seemed to go with him, an outflowing of something that came from the deeps of her womanhood.
“Eve, dear, what a nice man Mr. Canterton is.”
“Nice” was the principal adjective in Mrs. Carfax’s vocabulary.