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Page 8
"Oh, Harriet is a bad lot!" said Philip as soon as she
left the room. His mother laughed, and told him not to be
naughty; and the appearance of Irma, just off to school,
prevented further discussion. Not only in Tracts is a child
a peacemaker.
"One moment, Irma," said her uncle. "I'm going to the
station. I'll give you the pleasure of my company."
They started together. Irma was gratified; but
conversation flagged, for Philip had not the art of talking
to the young. Mrs. Herriton sat a little longer at the
breakfast table, re-reading Lilia's letter. Then she helped
the cook to clear, ordered dinner, and started the housemaid
turning out the drawing-room, Tuesday being its day. The
weather was lovely, and she thought she would do a little
gardening, as it was quite early. She called Harriet, who
had recovered from the insult to St. James's, and together
they went to the kitchen garden and began to sow some early
vegetables.
"We will save the peas to the last; they are the
greatest fun," said Mrs. Herriton, who had the gift of
making work a treat. She and her elderly daughter always
got on very well, though they had not a great deal in
common. Harriet's education had been almost too
successful. As Philip once said, she had "bolted all the
cardinal virtues and couldn't digest them." Though pious
and patriotic, and a great moral asset for the house, she
lacked that pliancy and tact which her mother so much
valued, and had expected her to pick up for herself.
Harriet, if she had been allowed, would have driven Lilia to
an open rupture, and, what was worse, she would have done
the same to Philip two years before, when he returned full
of passion for Italy, and ridiculing Sawston and its ways.
"It's a shame, Mother!" she had cried. "Philip laughs
at everything--the Book Club, the Debating Society, the
Progressive Whist, the bazaars. People won't like it. We
have our reputation. A house divided against itself cannot stand."
Mrs. Herriton replied in the memorable words, "Let
Philip say what he likes, and he will let us do what we
like." And Harriet had acquiesced.
They sowed the duller vegetables first, and a pleasant
feeling of righteous fatigue stole over them as they
addressed themselves to the peas. Harriet stretched a
string to guide the row straight, and Mrs. Herriton
scratched a furrow with a pointed stick. At the end of it
she looked at her watch.
"It's twelve! The second post's in. Run and see if
there are any letters."
Harriet did not want to go. "Let's finish the peas.
There won't be any letters."
"No, dear; please go. I'll sow the peas, but you shall
cover them up--and mind the birds don't see 'em!"
Mrs. Herriton was very careful to let those peas trickle
evenly from her hand, and at the end of the row she was
conscious that she had never sown better. They were
expensive too.
"Actually old Mrs. Theobald!" said Harriet, returning.
"Read me the letter. My hands are dirty. How
intolerable the crested paper is."
Harriet opened the envelope.
"I don't understand," she said; "it doesn't make sense."
"Her letters never did."
"But it must be sillier than usual," said Harriet, and
her voice began to quaver. "Look here, read it, Mother; I
can't make head or tail."
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