Then the chorus burst forth. "Yes, of course, Mary." "How are you managing, Mary?" "What is John doing about it?" "How are you getting the harvest in?" "How is John?" In a babble of curious voices.
Mary put down her tea-cup, and looked at them all. She seemed about to say something. Then she changed her mind and helped herself to another pink cake.
"Oh, we're getting on quite all right, thank you. How's the great child, Ursula?"
"Thomas is all right, thank you, Mary. But how is John? We've all been so anxious about him?"
"John is quite well again, thanks. How are you, Janet? Did Harrogate do you any good?"
The inquiries had to cease for a little while, until Janet Holmes had given a detailed account of her doctor, her ailments, her domestic problems and her cure. Mary did not think it necessary to listen. She ate and drank with drowsy contentment, the headache that had pursued her during the last fortnight slowly fading under the influence of tea and physical relaxation.
It was restful here, while Janet talked of waters and Turkish baths, and Sarah handed cheese-cakes on fluted dishes, and Anne nervously flicked at her tatting in the corner. Still, one would not like to stay here always—only for a little, until the harvest was in, and the house at Anderby quiet again, and it was no longer necessary to listen every minute for a knock on the back door.... Here it was too quiet though ... too quiet ... a valley ... trees in a valley.... Her thoughts trailed off to drowsy incoherence. "... And so I said 'Dr. Merriman, don't dream of it!' And he said 'My dear lady, that's just what I should do if I allowed you to continue a minute longer in this dreadful climate.'"
Like most of Janet's tales, there seemed no more reason why this should stop than why it had begun. Ursula decided it had continued long enough. She resumed the attack.
"Is it true that you and John are going to retire after this year?" she asked sweetly.
Mary looked up in genuine astonishment. "Good gracious, no!"