But one day in April, in the fourth year of her marriage, Mary sent
for Gwenda.
Rowcliffe was out on his rounds. She had thought of that. She was fond
of having Gwenda with her in Rowcliffe's absence, when she could talk
to her about him in a way that assumed his complete indifference to
Gwenda and utter devotion to herself. Gwenda was used to this habit of
Mary's and thought nothing of it.
She found her in Rowcliffe's study, the room that she knew better than
any other in his house. The window was closed. The panes cut up the
colors of the orchard and framed them in small squares.
Mary received her with a gentle voice and a show of tenderness. She
said very little. They had tea together, and when Gwenda would have
gone Mary kept her.
She still said very little. She seemed to brood over some happy
secret.
Presently she spoke. She told her secret.
And when she had told it she turned her eyes to Gwenda with a look of
subtle penetration and of triumph.
"At last," she said,--"After three years."