Part 17 (1/2)

”You dear old Tibby,” smiled the d.u.c.h.essa, ”I'm sure he didn't. n.o.body thinks you're a gossip. Gossiping is talking about things people don't want known, and generally things that are rather unkind, to say the least of it. You're the soul of honour and charity, and Father Dormer knows that as well as everyone else.”

”Oh, my dear!” expostulated Miss Tibb.u.t.t. ”But I'm glad you think he didn't----”

The d.u.c.h.essa got up from the table.

”Of course he didn't. Let us go into the garden, and have coffee out there. The fresh air will blow away the cobwebs.”

Miss Tibb.u.t.t followed the d.u.c.h.essa through the French window and across the wide gravel path, on to the lawn. The d.u.c.h.essa led the way to a seat beneath the lime trees. The bees were droning among the hanging flowers.

”Have you any cobwebs in your mind, my dear?” asked Miss Tibb.u.t.t as they sat down.

”Why do you ask?” queried the d.u.c.h.essa.

”Oh, my dear! I don't know. You said that about cobwebs, you see. And I thought you seemed--well, just a little preoccupied at dinner.”

There was a little silence.

”Tell me,” said Miss Tibb.u.t.t.

”There's nothing to tell,” said the d.u.c.h.essa lightly. ”A rather pretty soap-bubble burst and turned into an unpleasant cobweb, that's all.

So--well, I've just been brus.h.i.+ng my mind clear of both the cobweb and the memory of the soap-bubble.”

”You're certain it--the cobweb--isn't worrying you now?” asked Miss Tibb.u.t.t.

”My dear Tibby, it has ceased to exist,” laughed the d.u.c.h.essa.

It was a very rea.s.suring little laugh. Miss Tibb.u.t.t knew it to be quite absurd that, in spite of it, she still could not entirely dispel that vague sense of uneasiness. It spoilt the keen pleasure she ordinarily took in the garden, especially in the evening and most particularly in the month of June. She had a real sentiment about the month of June. From the first day to the last she held the hours tenderly, lingeringly, loath to let them slip between her fingers. There were only three more days left, and now there was this tiny uneasiness, which prevented her mind from entirely concentrating on the happiness of these remaining hours.

And then she gave herself a little mental shake. It was, after all, a selfish consideration on her part. If there were cause for uneasiness, she ought to be thinking of Pia rather than herself, and if there were no cause--and Pia had just declared there was not--she was being thoroughly absurd. She gave herself a second mental shake, and looked towards the house, whence a young footman was just emerging with a tray on which were two coffee cups and a sugar basin. He put the tray down on a small rustic table near them, and went back the way he had come, his step making no sound on the soft gra.s.s.

”I wonder what it feels like to be a servant, and have to do everything to time,” she said suddenly. ”It must be trying to have to be invariably punctual.”

Now, as a matter of fact, Miss Tibb.u.t.t was exceedingly punctual, but then it was by no means absolutely inc.u.mbent upon her to be so; she could quite well have absented herself entirely from a meal if she desired.

That, of course, made all the difference.

”You are punctual,” said the d.u.c.h.essa laughing.

”I know. But it wouldn't in the least matter if I were not. You could go on without me. You couldn't very well go on if Dale had forgotten to lay the table, or if Morris had felt disinclined to cook the food.”

”No,” agreed the d.u.c.h.essa. And then, after a moment, she said, ”Anyhow there are some things we have to do to time--Ma.s.s on Sundays and days of obligation, for instance.”

Miss Tibb.u.t.t nodded. ”Oh, of course. But that's generally only once a week. Besides that's different. It's a big voice that tells one to do that--the voice of the Church. The other is a little human voice giving the orders. I know, in a sense, one ought to hear the big voice behind it all; but sometimes one would forget to listen for it. At least, I know I should. And then I should simply hate the routine, and doing things--little ordinary everyday things--to time. I'd just love to say, if I were cook, that there shouldn't be any meals to-day, or that they should be an hour later, or an hour earlier, to suit my fancy.”

The d.u.c.h.essa laughed again.

”My dear Tibby, it's quite obvious that your vocation is not to the religious life. Fancy you in a convent! I can imagine you suggesting to the Reverend Mother that a change in the time of saying divine office would be desirable, or at all events that it should be varied on alternate days; and I can see you going off for long and rampageous days in the country, just for a change.”

Miss Tibb.u.t.t shook her head.