"Oh, indeed." Sarah did not like Ursula.
She sat very straight in her chair, and drew from her velvet reticule a half-knitted sock. Presently she found Mary at her side. "That's pretty wool. Are those for Tom?"
"Yes. I always make them myself. The things you buy in shops nowadays are useless—shrink up to nothing in the first wash."
"I know. I knit John's too. I'm just making some for him now. Look, I've got a new stitch for double heels. They're so nice to wear with heavy boots."
"John does not like double heels. He has such tender feet. From a boy he blistered easily." Sarah announced this distinction proudly.
"Oh, he'll like these. They are of the softest wool."
"Has he worn any yet?"
"Not like this, but he's going to this spring. I got the wool at Dobbin's in Hardrascliffe, four shillings a pound. It's lovely and soft—it couldn't hurt."
"I think you will find that it will, Mary. I've known John's feet longer than you have and his skin won't stand double heels. We Robsons are delicate in our skins. Of course if you want to save yourself the trouble of darning——"
The colour rose to Mary's face. She looked angrily at Sarah for a moment, then her knitting-needles clashed in the silence. After a little while she left the room.