She took a
hand in making the beds, and put her own room in order by tumbling
everything into the closet and shutting the door. Then she went into
the kitchen to help with the lunch. When Mrs. Barly saw her dreaming
over the carrots, she asked:
"What are you gaping at now?"
"Nothing."
Then Mrs. Barly grew vexed. "You're not feeble-minded, I hope," she
said.
"No, I'm not," said Anna.
"I'm glad of that," said Mrs. Barly.
When Anna said that she was not thinking of anything, she believed that
she was telling the truth. But as a matter of fact, she was thinking
of Thomas Frye. She wanted him to be in love with her, although she
said to herself: "I am not in love with any one." Sometimes she
thought that her heart was buried in France, with Noel Ploughman.
However, she was mistaken. The tear she dropped in secret over his
death, was for her own youth, out of her timid, clumsy, sweet-and-sour
feelings.
In the afternoon she went for a walk. The rain, starting again after
breakfast, had stopped, but the sky was still overcast, the air damp
and searching.
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