"That's all far-fetched nonsense. It's happened and it's a great pity that it's happened. But in a way it might have been worse. After the insurance has been paid, you won't have lost a deal o' money, and you can live quite comfortably somewhere else, and do a bit of farming at Littledale. I certainly think Anderby is a bit too much for John after what's happened, and now he isn't well. He looks done up enough to-night."
"That's all, then."
Sarah rose. She was tired herself, and Mary looked tired too. It was quite time that they both went to bed, but something in Mary's face made Sarah hesitate. After all, it was Mary's farm, and she knew it would not be pleasant to be driven out in this way. She wanted to comfort her—at least, part of her wanted to, the other part felt only resentment against the woman whose obstinacy and self-confidence had been so bad for John.
"Hadn't you better go to bed?" she asked.
"I'm coming in a minute. You go. I'm just going to see if the doors are fastened."
"Mary, is there anything I can do?"
"Nothing, thank you."
For a moment they confronted one another. There was no sound except the rain, falling in a steady downpour on the house and garden. The wind had dropped. Sarah took a step forward. If Mary had given one sign of emotion, had done anything but stand by the table, with a grey, bored face, Sarah might have tried to console her. She did not move.
"Good night then, Mary."
"Good night."