looked respectfully after her.
Mary murmured.
‘Now, she really is like a duchess!’
‘Yes—she’s got a manner. Always makes me feel hot inside my collar.’
Mary said slowly:
‘She doesn’t like me.’
‘Nonsense, my girl.’
‘It’s true. She doesn’t. She’s always saying sharp things to me.’
‘Jealous,’ said Ted, nodding his head sapiently. ‘That’s all it is.’
Mary said doubtfully:
‘I suppose it might be that…’
‘That’s it, depend upon it. She’s been housekeeper at Hunterbury for years, ruling the roost and ordering everyone about and now old Mrs Welman takes a fancy to you, and it puts her out! That’s all it is.’
Mary said, a shade of trouble on her forehead:
‘It’s silly of me, but I can’t bear it when anyone doesn’t like me. I want people to like me.’
‘Sure to be women who don’t like you, Mary! Jealous cats who think you’re too good-looking!’
Mary said:
‘I think jealousy’s horrible.’
Ted said slowly:
‘Maybe—but it exists all right. Say, I saw a lovely film over at Alledore last week. Clark Gable. All about one of these millionaire blokes who neglected his wife; and then she pretended she’d done the dirty on him. And there was another fellow…’
Mary moved away. She said:
‘Sorry, Ted, I must go. I’m late.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to have tea with Nurse Hopkins.’
Ted made a face.
‘Funny taste. That woman’s the biggest gossip in the village! Pokes that long nose of hers into everything.’
Mary said:
‘She’s been very kind to me always.’
‘Oh, I’m not saying there’s any harm in her. But she talks.’
Mary said:
‘Goodbye, Ted.’
She hurried off, leaving him standing gazing resentfully after her.
Nurse Hopkins occupied a small cottage at the end of the village. She herself had just come in and was untying her bonnet strings when Mary entered.
‘Ah, there you are. I’m a bit late. Old Mrs Caldecott was bad again. Made me late with my round of dressings. I saw you with Ted Bigland at the end of the street.’
Mary said rather dispiritedly:
‘Yes…’
Nurse Hopkins looked up alertly from where she was stooping to light the gas-ring under the kettle.
Her long nose twitched.
‘Was he saying something particular to you, my dear?’
‘No. He just asked me to go to the cinema.’
‘I see,’ said Nurse Hopkins promptly. ‘Well, of course, he’s a nice young fellow and doesn’t do too badly at the garage, and his father does rather better than most of the farmers round here. All the same, my dear, you don’t seem to me cut out for Ted Bigland’s wife. Not with your education and all. As I was saying, if I was you I’d go in for massage when the time comes. You get about a bit and see people that way; and your time’s more or less your own.’
Mary said:
‘I’ll think it over. Mrs Welman spoke to me the other day. She was very sweet about it. It was just exactly as you said it was. She doesn’t want me to go away just now. She’d miss me, she said. But she told me not to worry about the future, that she meant to help me.’
Nurse Hopkins said dubiously:
‘Let’s hope she’s put that down in black and white! Sick people are odd.’
Mary asked:
‘Do you think Mrs Bishop really dislikes me—or is it only my fancy?’
Nurse Hopkins considered a minute.
‘She puts on a sour face, I must say. She’s one of those who don’t like seeing young people having a good time or anything done for them. Thinks, perhaps, Mrs Welman is a bit too fond of you, and resents it.’
She laughed cheerfully.
‘I shouldn’t worry if I was you, Mary, my dear. Just open that paper bag, will you? There’s a couple of doughnuts in it.’
Your Aunt had second stroke last night No cause immediate anxiety but suggest you should come down if possible Lord.
Immediately on receipt of the telegram Elinor had rung up Roddy, and now they were in the train together bound for Hunterbury.
Elinor had not seen much of Roddy in the week that had elapsed since their visit. On the two brief occasions when they had met, there had been an odd kind of constraint between them. Roddy had sent her flowers—a great sheaf of long stemmed roses. It was unusual on his part. At a dinner they had had together he had seemed more attentive than usual, consulting her preferences in food and drink, being unusually assiduous in helping her on and off with her coat. A little, Elinor thought, as though he were playing a part in a play—the part of the devoted fiancé…
Then she had said to herself:
‘Don’t be an idiot. Nothing’s wrong… You imagine things! It’s that beastly brooding, possessive mind of yours.’
Her manner to him had been perhaps a shade more detached, more aloof than usual.
Now, in this sudden emergency, the constraint passed, they talked together naturally enough.
Roddy said:
‘Poor old dear, and she was so well when we saw her the other day.’
Elinor said:
‘I do mind so terribly for her. I know how she hated being ill, anyway, and now I suppose she’ll be more helpless still, and she’ll simply loathe that! One does feel, Roddy, that people
