Sad Cypress

‘Yes—it’s a long time. I—Nurse O’Brien sent me to look for you. She wants to lift Mrs Welman up, and she says you usually do it with her.’

Mary said: ‘I’ll go at once.’

She moved off, breaking into a run. Elinor stood looking after her. Mary ran well, grace in every movement.

Roddy said softly: ‘Atalanta…’

Elinor did not answer. She stood quite still for a minute or two. Then she said:

‘It’s nearly lunch-time. We’d better go back.’

They walked side by side towards the house.

‘Oh! Come on, Mary. It’s Garbo, and a grand film—all about Paris. And a story by a tiptop author. There was an opera of it once.’

‘It’s frightfully nice of you, Ted, but I really won’t.’

Ted Bigland said angrily:

‘I can’t make you out nowadays, Mary. You’re different—altogether different.’

‘No, I’m not, Ted.’

‘You are! I suppose because you’ve been away to that grand school and to Germany. You’re too good for us now.’

‘It’s not true, Ted. I’m not like that.’

She spoke vehemently.

The young man, a fine sturdy specimen, looked at her appraisingly in spite of his anger.

‘Yes, you are. You’re almost a lady, Mary.’

Mary said with sudden bitterness:

‘Almost isn’t much good, is it?’

He said with sudden understanding:

‘No, I reckon it isn’t.’

Mary said quickly:

‘Anyway, who cares about that sort of thing nowadays? Ladies and gentlemen, and all that!’

‘It doesn’t matter like it did—no,’ Ted assented, but thoughtfully. ‘All the same, there’s a feeling. Lord, Mary, you look like a duchess or a countess or something.’

Mary said:

‘That’s not saying much. I’ve seen countesses looking like old-clothes women!’

‘Well, you know what I mean.’

A stately figure of ample proportions, handsomely dressed in black, bore down upon them. Her eyes gave them a sharp glance. Ted moved aside a step or two. He said:

‘Afternoon, Mrs Bishop.’

Mrs Bishop inclined her head graciously.

‘Good afternoon, Ted Bigland. Good afternoon, Mary.’

She passed on, a ship in full sail.

Ted looked respectfully after her.

Mary murmured.

‘Now, she really is like a duchess!’

‘Yes—she’s got a manner. Always makes me feel hot inside my collar.’

Mary said slowly:

‘She doesn’t like me.’

‘Nonsense, my girl.’

‘It’s true. She doesn’t. She’s always saying sharp things to me.’

‘Jealous,’ said Ted, nodding his head sapiently. ‘That’s all it is.’

Mary said doubtfully:

‘I suppose it might be that…’

‘That’s it, depend upon it. She’s been housekeeper at Hunterbury for years, ruling the roost and ordering everyone about and now old Mrs Welman takes a fancy to you, and it puts her out! That’s all it is.’

Mary said, a shade of trouble on her forehead:

‘It’s silly of me, but I can’t bear it when anyone doesn’t like me. I want people to like me.’

‘Sure to be women who don’t like you, Mary! Jealous cats who think you’re too good-looking!’

Mary said:

‘I think jealousy’s horrible.’

Ted said slowly: