Page:Walpole - Fortitude.djvu/305

 “They must soon be here,” said Mrs. Galleon gloomily. Her gloom was happy and comfortable. She was making the very most of a pleasant business with the greatest satisfaction in the world. She had done exactly the same at Bobby's wedding, and, in her heavy, determined way she would do the same again before she died. Alice Galleon would be there in a moment, meantime the two ladies, without moving in their chairs, flung sentences across at one another and smoothed their silk skirts with their white plump hands.

“It's not really a healthy house—”

“No—with the orchard—and it's much too small—”

“Poor dears, hope they'll be happy. But one can't help feeling, Jane dear, that it was a little rash of you your only girl  and one knows so little about Mr.  Westcott, really—”

“Well, your own Bobby vouched for him. He'd known him at school after all, and we all know how cautious Bobby is about people—besides, Emma, no one could have received him more warmly—”

“Yes—Oh! of course but still, having no family—coming out of nowhere, so to speak—”

“Well, it's to be hoped they'll get on. I must say that Clare will miss her home terribly. It takes a lot to make up for that—And her father so devoted too”

“Yes, we must make the best of it.”

The sun's light faded from the room—the clock and the pictures stood out sharply against the gathering dusk. Two ladies filled the room with their shadows and the little fire clicked and rattled behind the murmuring voices.

Alice Galleon burst in upon them. “What! Not arrived yet! the train must be dreadfully late. Lights! Lights! No, don't yon move, mother!”

She returned with lamps and flooded the room with light. The ladies displayed a feeble protest against her exultant happiness.

“I'm sure, my dear, I hope that nothing has happened.”

“My dear mother, what could happen?”