she heard him say as if to himself: "Some people are glad. Mrs. George
Pott"--the woman who kept the local beer-shop--"danced when _her_ husband
died."

"I wish, Timmy," said his mother sharply, "that you would not listen to,
or repeat low village gossip."

"Not even if it's true, Mum?"

"No, not even if it's true."

When Janet had first come to Old Place as a bride, eager to shoulder what
some of her friends had told her would be an almost intolerable burden,
her husband's six children had been a sad, subdued, nursery-brought-up
group, infinitely pathetic to her warm Scotch heart. At once she had
instituted, rather to the indignation of the old nurse who was yet to
become in due time her devoted henchwoman, a daily dining-room tea, and
the custom still persisted.

And now, to Timmy's surprise, his mother opened the drawing-room door
instead of going on to the dining-room. "Tell Betty," she said abruptly,
"to pour out tea. I'll come on presently."

She shut the door, and going over to the roomy old sofa, sat down, and
leaning back, closed her eyes. It was a very unusual thing for her to
do, but she felt tired, and painfully excited at the thought of Godfrey
Radmore's coming visit. And as she lay there, there rose up before her,
wearily and despondently, the changes which nine years had brought to Old
Place.