"D'you think they _are_ happy?" Evelyn murmured to Terence in an
undertone, and she hoped that he would say that he did not think them
happy; but, instead, he said that they must go too--go home, for they
were always being late for meals, and Mrs. Ambrose, who was very stern
and particular, didn't like that. Evelyn laid hold of Rachel's skirt and
protested. Why should they go? It was still early, and she had so many
things to say to them. "No," said Terence, "we must go, because we walk
so slowly. We stop and look at things, and we talk."
"What d'you talk about?" Evelyn enquired, upon which he laughed and said
that they talked about everything.
Mrs. Thornbury went with them to the gate, trailing very slowly and
gracefully across the grass and the gravel, and talking all the time
about flowers and birds. She told them that she had taken up the study
of botany since her daughter married, and it was wonderful what a number
of flowers there were which she had never seen, although she had lived
in the country all her life and she was now seventy-two. It was a good
thing to have some occupation which was quite independent of other
people, she said, when one got old. But the odd thing was that one never
felt old. She always felt that she was twenty-five, not a day more or a
day less, but, of course, one couldn't expect other people to agree to
that.
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