So that was what they thought of the thing that had dictated the whole course of her life, forced her into marriage with a man old enough to be her father, and left her, now that youth was passing, deprived of every interest except her village work. Something that was all over, and might be comfortably forgotten.... Though, without it, she might be going to have a child as well as Ursula....
"Of course I dare say I've no right to say anything, Mary. You know it's only because you're such a dear really...."
Middle-aged. That was what Ursula said she was. Well, she often felt it. She supposed it must be with thinking about the same thing for so long. Monomania is an efficient destroyer of youth.
Well, if she was in a groove, there was no escape from it. Not by the easy way of tennis parties and bridge which Ursula suggested. She had placed herself irretrievably in the ranks of the older generation. If youth meant the adventuring towards an uncertain choice of life, then, when the choice was made, youth ended. Ten years ago Mary had made her choice. Henceforward she was captive in a "groove," and must descend in it steadily until the end of life, with no digressions that might lead her to the hill-tops of success or the valleys of humiliation.
She opened the gate for Ursula and passed behind her up the wintry garden.
Never mind! She would make it all worth while.
Anderby was going to be the most prosperous, popular, well cared for village in the East Riding before she had done with it. She'd show them.
She went along the passage with shining eyes and began to prepare dinner.
In spite of herself the elasticity of her youth had momentarily triumphed.
John followed her and stood in the doorway watching her with his slow smile.