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Ansdore was one of the largest farms of the district, and it was absurd that it should never be represented at the Woolpack table merely on the ground that its master was a woman. Of course many women wondered how Joanna could face such a company of males, and suggestions were made for admitting farmers' wives on this occasion.
Ellen would come now and then and sit on her bed, and wander round the room playing with Joanna's ornaments she wore a little satisfied smile on her face, and about her was a queer air of restlessness and contentment which baffled and annoyed her sister. The officers from Lydd did not now come so often to Ansdore.
Arthur Alce was very much upset by the gossip about Joanna. "All you've done since you started running Ansdore is to get yourself talked about," he said sadly. "Well, I don't mind that." "No, but you should ought to. A woman should ought to be modest and timid and not paint her house so's it shows up five mile off first your house, and then your waggons it'll be your face next."
Your looker's done things that no farmer on this Marsh ud put up with a month, and yet you keep him on, you with all your fine ideas about farming and running Ansdore as your poor father ud have had it ... and then he's a well set-up young man too, nice-looking and stout as I won't deny, and you're a young woman that I'd say was nice-looking too, and it's only natural folks should talk when they see a pretty woman hanging on to a handsome chap in spite of his having half bust her."
Joanna was not worried by these remarks she brushed them aside. Her character was gossip-proof, whereas Ellen's was not, therefore it was best that the stones should be thrown at her rather than at her sister. She at once went practically to work with Donkey Street. She did not wish to keep it it was too remote from Ansdore to be easily workable, and she was content with her own thriving estate.
You forgot me for five days, but you won't forget me any more for I'm all that you've got now." For many months Ansdore was a piece of wreckage to which a drowning woman clung.
It's all fine enough to talk of her having Ansdore, but whosumdever wants Ansdore ull have to take Joanna Godden with it, and it isn't every man who'd care to do that." "Surelye. She's a mare that's never bin präaperly broken in.
She fretted about Ansdore, and nearly drove her carter and her looker frantic with her last injunctions; she fretted about Ellen, and cautioned Mrs. Tolhurst to keep a strict watch over her "She's not to go up to late dinner at Great Ansdore without you fetch her home." On the other hand, she swaggered tremendously about the expensive and fashionable trip she was making.
On a dim afternoon towards the middle of October in the year 1897, a funeral procession was turning off this road into the drive of Little Ansdore. The drive was thick with shingle, and the mourning coaches lurched and rolled in it, spoiling no doubt the decorum of their occupants. Anyhow, the first two to get out at the farmhouse door had lost a little of that dignity proper to funerals.
The dwelling-house of Little Ansdore, though more flat and spreading, was in every way superior to that of Great Ansdore, which was rather new and inclined to gimcrackiness, having been built on the site of the first dwelling, burnt down somewhere in the eighties.
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