vi

nurse hopkins occupied a small cottage at the end of the village. she herself had just come in and

was untying her bonnet strings when mary entered.

“ah, there you are. i’m a bit late. old mrs. caldecott was bad again. made me late with my

round of dressings. i saw you with ted bigland at the end of the street.”

mary said rather dispiritedly:

“yes….”

nurse hopkins looked up alertly from where she was stooping to light the gas ring under the

kettle.

her long nose twitched.

“was he saying something particular to you, my dear?”

“no. he just asked me to go to the cinema.”

“i see,” said nurse hopkins promptly. “well, of course, he’s a nice young fellow and doesn’t

do too badly at the garage, and his father does rather better than most of the farmers round here.

all the same, my dear, you don’t seem to me cut out for ted bigland’s wife. not with your

education and all. as i was saying, if i was you i’d go in for massage when the time comes. you

get about a bit and see people that way; and your time’s more or less your own.”

mary said:

“i’ll think it over. mrs. welman spoke to me the other day. she was very sweet about it. it was

just exactly as you said it was. she doesn’t want me to go away just now. she’d miss me, she said.

but she told me not to worry about the future, that she meant to help me.”

nurse hopkins said dubiously:

“let’s hope she’s put that down in black and white! sick people are odd.”

mary asked:

“do you think mrs. bishop really dislikes me—or is it only my fancy?”

nurse hopkins considered a minute.

“she puts on a sour face, i must say. she’s one of those who don’t like seeing young people

having a good time or anything done for them. thinks, perhaps, mrs. welman is a bit too fond of

you, and resents it.”

she laughed cheerfully.

“i shouldn’t worry if i was you, mary, my dear. just open that paper bag, will you? there’s a

couple of doughnuts in it.”