But all the time she was changing her clothes and driving into Market Burton with her husband, Mary was haunted by Violet's final exclamation. Possibly she was wrong. Her obstinacy about the water-paddock in the village, her advice to Violet, her wistfulness in the morning, were all part of a sentimental legend, invented by people to hide the emptiness of their lives. "Oh—love!"
Well, anyway, there was the farm and the village, and plenty of useful and important things to do. Really at her age, it was time she stopped being so stupid. John was a good husband, and at least he never said "Shuve up, lass!" There were compensations even in marrying an older cousin.
Her destination that afternoon was the drawing-room of Petunia Villa, whither Uncle Dickie and Aunt Jane had retired after their farming days were over. Anne and Louisa lived with them, and on Wednesday afternoons, while the men attended the Cattle Market, all the ladies of the family congregated there among the woolwork and antimacassars.
Mary had brought her sewing and sat a little apart, listening to her sisters-in-law run through their conversational répertoire—servants, ailments, the Medical Mission's sale of work. Among her husband's relatives she had gained an unmerited reputation for silence. But she was aware that every remark she made in Market Burton was repeated and criticized from house to house, and passed on continually, with the brief prelude, "Mary Robson says so and so," and the probable qualification, "Isn't she queer?"
Janet Holmes was concluding a long narrative.
"... And so I said, 'Mr. Jefferson, I've bought silk from your establishment for five and thirty years; but, after this, never again!' And I walked out of the shop."
There followed a murmur of approbation from the sisters-in-law. Then the conversation, having for so long dwindled into a monologue, ceased entirely, while a new topic was sought. Mary, who had formed a habit of trying to give people what they wanted, provided one for them.
"Did you know that Toby had bought a new car?" she asked.
They fell upon it with avidity.
"He'd better by half have kept the money to pay his doctor's bills. Molly tells me they weren't paid for last time, and now, with the new one coming, I'm sure I don't know how he'll manage." Sarah Bannister poked her knitting-needles sharply into the sock.