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Updated: June 9, 2025
For an instant, Helen felt old and forgotten; she remembered Notya, who was in trouble, and she herself was shrouded by her own readiness to see misfortune; all her little preparations, the flowers on the table, the scones before the fire, her pretty dress, were gathered into one foolishness when she saw Zebedee pushing open the gate and looking down at Miriam.
You're not like her. You're strong. You can manage without any one." "I've had to." "Oh," she moaned, "don't make me feel unhappy about going." "I wouldn't have you unhappy about anything." "You're a wonderful friend to me. Good-night." He watched her move away, but when she had gone a few paces she ran back. "It wasn't quite the truth," she said. "It was only partly Notya."
I'll talk about something else. Suppose I hadn't you? What shall we have for dinner tomorrow? There's a bone for you, and the jelly for Notya, and for me an egg, perhaps. Boiled, baked, fried, poached, scrambled, omeletted? Somehow, somehow. What shall I say next? Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, and all that kind of thing. That will take a long time. I know I sound mad, but I'm not.
"If Notya and our absent parent didn't get on together and who could get on with a man who's always ill? they were wise in parting, weren't they?" "But why the moor?" "Ah, I think that was a sudden impulse, and she has always been too proud to own that it was a mistake." "That's the first sensible thing any one has said yet," John remarked. "I quite agree with you. It's my own idea."
Helen's looks at the moment were unabashed: she was trying to remember what Zebedee had said, both for its own sake and to gauge its effect on Notya to whose memory it was clear enough, and its naturalness, the slight and unmistakable change in his voice as he spoke to Helen, hurt her so much with their reminder of what she had missed that pain made her strike once more.
She had wit enough to realize that she was almost ridiculous in her discontent, but for that Notya must be blamed, and her own immediate necessity was to find amusement. In all the vastness of the moor, George Halkett was the only being who could give her a taste of what she wanted, and she had quarrelled with George Halkett.
She flourished the knife. "Can't we be merry when we have the chance? Now that she's gone, why should the house still feel full of her? It isn't fair!" "You're dripping butter on the floor," Helen said. "Make your old toast yourself, then!" "It's not only Notya," Helen went on, as she picked up the knife. "It's the Pinderwells and their thoughts, and the people who lived here before them.
"Oh, don't be pious! Don't be pious! You're always adorning tales. You're a prig!" "Well, I haven't time to think about that now," Helen said with the excellent humour which made amends for her many virtues. "I'm helping Notya to pack and I want you to ask George Halkett if he will drive her down. The train goes at a quarter to three."
There was an exclamation and a protest. "Only because I couldn't be happy about you." "Because of George? No, I don't see how I can stay here, but there's Notya." "You're no use, you see." "Oh " "If you can't even carry in that bed." "I'll try to go in," she said, in a muffled voice. "I can ask the nurse.
She waited for Rupert, dreading his quick eyes. "Notya seems better," he said easily. "Well, did you finish the cigarette?" "I didn't like it." "And it looked wrong. A piece of fine sewing suits you better." She smiled. "Does it? Have you had supper?" "Lily fed me. I like that girl. The only people I ever want to marry are the ones that some one else has chosen. It's contrariness, I suppose."
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