Gabriel had tales to tell of nearly all his animals. Elizabeth heard with interest that the Jersey cow, Emily, had had bad trouble in her last calving, and that he and Mrs. Gabriel had almost despaired of saving the calf’s life. She saw the calf, a sturdy young heifer, and soon knew every cow and pig apart. She thought how lovely it would be to have a farm, especially in the spring, when the lambs came. Then she remembered that there was a farm quite near to Queen’s Halt. She had never taken very much interest in it, probably because she had been too much occupied in dwelling upon her grievances. What a fool she had been!

“I wish this were spring-time!” she said impulsively. “Lambs are so sweet!”

“You’d best come again, next year,” Gabriel answered. “There ’ll be lambs and sucking-pigs and chickens. Spring the best time for a lady to come on a farm. If you’d been here earlier in the year you could have helped my wife rear the lamb we had to take from its mother. She had to feed it from a bottle.”

“I wish I had been here! I’d like to have seen Nellie’s puppies, too.”

“Beautiful litter,” he agreed.

“Perhaps you’d like to have a pup out of her next one?” Mrs. Gabriel suggested.

“Oh, yes, I would! How lovely!” Elizabeth cried.

“Well, it’ll give you something to do, won’t it, my dear?”

Elizabeth looked at her.

“How did you know I—wanted that?”

“I sort of guessed, dearie. If you’ve no babies, have a dog. It’s nice to have something to love and do for.”

“No—I haven’t any—children,” Elizabeth said.

“I knew that. It’s not in your face. They’ll come, maybe.”

Elizabeth thought it unlikely—not impossible, but improbable. During her visit to Wood End she fought her battle, as Mr. Hengist had thought she would fight it. The problem of her future was turned over and over; she argued this way and that, striving desperately to be honest with herself, excusing herself never, but rather exaggerating the blame that was due to her.

Mrs. Gabriel was a help; she was ready to talk or to be silent, whichever you wished, and when she talked stray scraps of her life’s philosophy came out. In a manner free from impertinence she asked where Elizabeth’s husband was. She spoke as a woman more than double Elizabeth’s age, and Elizabeth told her that Stephen was abroad. They had parted.

Mrs. Gabriel nodded, banging the rolling-pin down upon the pastry. Her shapely arms were bare to the elbow; Elizabeth marvelled at the fine texture of the skin, and the plump firmness of the flesh beneath. There was kindness in the grey eyes that regarded Elizabeth; it impelled her to speak, almost against her will.