Лето
XVII
Sheshookherhead,buthedrewthecoverhigherup,andstoopedtotuckitinabouttheankles.Shecontinuedtolookstraightahead.Tearsofwearinessandweaknessweredimminghereyesandbeginningtorunover,butshedarednotwipethemawaylestheshouldobservethegesture.
Theydroveinsilence,followingthelongloopsofthedescentuponHamblin,andMr.Royalldidnotspeakagaintilltheyreachedtheoutskirtsofthevillage.Thenheletthereinsdrooponthedashboardanddrewouthiswatch.
“Charity,”hesaid,“youlookfairdoneup,andNorthDormer’sagoodishwayoff.I’vefiguredoutthatwe’ddobettertostopherelongenoughforyoutogetamouthfulofbreakfastandthendrivedowntoCrestonandtakethetrain.”
Sherousedherselffromherapatheticmusing.“Thetrain—whattrain?”
Mr.Royall,withoutanswering,letthehorsejogontilltheyreachedthedoorofthefirsthouseinthevillage.“ThisisoldMrs.Hobart’splace,”hesaid.“She’llgiveussomethinghottodrink.”
Charity,halfunconsciously,foundherselfgettingoutofthebuggyandfollowinghiminattheopendoor.Theyenteredadecentkitchenwithafirecracklinginthestove.Anoldwomanwithakindlyfacewassettingoutcupsandsaucersonthetable.Shelookedupandnoddedastheycamein,andMr.Royalladvancedtothestove,clappinghisnumbhandstogether.
“Well,Mrs.Hobart,yougotanybreakfastforthisyounglady?Youcanseeshe’scoldandhungry.”
Mrs.HobartsmiledonCharityandtookatincoffee-potfromthefire.
