"Not a bathroom? Poor things! Why, if I don't have my bath every morning I feel perfectly filthy. And bathing in one's room is such a chill-some business, isn't it?"
"I'm afraid it is really. But you shall have a fire. I'll light one now." She lit the fire and went out, leaving Ursula alone with the tray.
Ursula waited quarter of an hour for Mary in the hall, and while she waited, she reluctantly yielded to an increasing sense of irritation. She had come to Anderby prepared to be very nice to Mary—and here was Mary trying to patronize her all the time. All that breakfast in bed, and fire and bath business had subtly transferred Ursula from the position of a friend to that of a dependent. "Perfection of service lies in the appearance of rendering none," quoted Ursula to herself, and decided she was badly used.
And when Mary at last appeared in the hall, she came forward with an apology which implied no shame but was merely a statement of courtesy.
"I'm sorry I kept you waiting, but the butcher's cart came round and then Mrs. Walker brought me her nursing subscription."
"Oh, don't worry about me. I've been as right as a trivet—only waiting about half an hour. Where are we going?"
"Well, if you don't mind I want to go up to the churchyard. Old Jacob Jordan died a day or two ago. They're burying him to-morrow and I sent a man up to line the grave with evergreen. The old people haven't much of a garden, and they do appreciate those little attentions."
"Do you go and decorate the grave yourself?"
"No, I only want to see how it's getting on. Here, let me open the gate. You'll spoil your gloves."