Mary pulled herself together. After all she had her work. She had Anderby. Her needle flew in and out of her material as she nursed this thought. All that one really wanted was that things should stay as they were. What did it matter if Ursula had a private income and clothes from London and an exasperating air of importance?
She could have a thousand babies for all Mary cared! One day she would retire too, and grow old, and come to wither among the trees of the valley.
Mary never would. Never, never!
Aunt Jane beckoned her.
"Come and talk to me, love. I haven't seen you for long enough."
Mary crossed the room and sat down by the big arm-chair. Aunt Jane sat, her bird-like head on one side, waiting for Mary to tell her something. She always sat like this, waiting for people to tell her something. It was her one interest in life, though she always forgot what they told her.
Mary knew she was waiting, but there seemed to be nothing to say. Ursula was still in the room, so she must not yet talk about the baby, but besides that she could think of nothing but dried leaves rattling on rotten twigs in a valley garden.
"Well, love?" prompted Aunt Jane.
"Have you been cutting down any trees lately?" asked Mary wildly.
Her sisters-in-law looked up in mild surprise, but Aunt Jane only shook her head.