'But he hates it.

Is--is Miss Farrell--' she looked round--'in love with anybody ?' Miss Martin laughed.
'I'll leave you to find out--when you go there.

So if your husband liked you to paint and powder, you would do it ?' The older woman looked curiously at her companion.

As she sat there, on a rock above the lake, in a grey nurse's dress with a nurse's bonnet tied under her chin, Hester Martin conveyed an impression of rugged and unconscious strength which seemed to fuse her with the crag behind her.
She had been gathering sphagnum moss on the fells almost from sunrise that morning; and by tea-time she was expecting a dozen munition-workers from Barrow, whom she was to house, feed and 'do for,' in her little cottage over the week-end.

In the interval, she had climbed the steep path to that white farm where death had just entered, and having mourned with them that mourn, she had come now, as naturally, to rejoice with Nelly Sarratt.
Nelly considered her question, but not in any doubtfulness of mind.
'Indeed, I would,' she said, decidedly.