“Bring a chair and a book out, dear. These June evenings are so pleasant.”
Eve followed her mother’s suggestion, knowing very well that she would not be permitted to read. Mrs. Carfax did not understand being silent, her conversation resembling a slowly dripping tap that lets a drop fall every few seconds. She had never troubled to read any book that did not permit her to lose her place and to pick it up again without missing anything of importance. She kept a continuous sparrowish twittering, clicking her knitting needles and sitting stiffly in her chair.
“Have you had a nice day, dear?”
“Quite nice.”
“Did you see Mr. Canterton?”
“Oh, yes, I saw him!”
“He must be a very interesting man.”
“Yes.”
“I should think his wife is such a help to him.”
“Oh?”