Katherine nodded.
“That’s what I thought,” she said. “Now read this.”
She handed him the letter she had taken from the long blue envelope. The doctor read and uttered an exclamation of utter astonishment.
“Impossible,” he muttered. “Impossible.”
“She was one of the original shareholders in Mortaulds. Forty years ago she must have had an income of eight or ten thousand a year. She has never, I am sure, spent more than four hundred a year. She was always terribly careful about money. I always believed that she was obliged to be careful about every penny.”
“And all the time the income has accumulated at compound interest. My dear, you’re going to be a very rich woman.”
Katherine Grey nodded.
“Yes,” she said, “I am.”
She spoke in a detached, impersonal tone, as though she were looking at the situation from outside.
“Well,” said the doctor, preparing to depart, “you have all my congratulations.” He flicked Mrs. Samuel Harfield’s letter with his thumb. “Don’t worry about that woman and her odious letter.”
“It really isn’t an odious letter,” said Miss Grey tolerantly. “Under the circumstances, I think it’s really quite a natural thing to do.”
“I have the gravest suspicions of you sometimes,” said the doctor.
“Why?”
“The things that you find perfectly natural.”
Katherine Grey laughed.
Doctor Harrison retailed the great news to his wife at lunchtime. She was very excited about it.
“Fancy old Mrs. Harfield—with all that money. I’m glad she left it to Katherine Grey. That girl’s a saint.”
The doctor made a wry face.
“Saints I always imagined must have been difficult people. Katherine Grey is too human for a saint.”
“She’s a saint with a sense of humour,” said the doctor’s wife, twinkling. “And, though I don’t suppose you’ve ever noticed the fact, she’s extremely good looking.”
“Katherine Grey?” The doctor was honestly surprised. “She’s got very nice eyes, I know.”
“Oh, you men!” cried his wife. “Blind as bats. Katherine’s got all the makings of a beauty in her. All she wants is clothes!”
“Clothes? What’s wrong with her clothes? She always looks very nice.”
Mrs. Harrison gave an exasperated sigh, and the doctor rose preparatory to starting on his rounds.
“You might look in on her, Polly,” he suggested.
“I’m going to,” said Mrs. Harrison promptly.
She made her call about three o’clock.
“My dear, I’m so glad,” she said warmly, as she squeezed Katherine’s hand. “And everyone in the village will be glad too.”
“It’s very nice of you to come and tell me,” said Katherine. “I hoped you would come in because I wanted to ask about Johnnie.”
“Oh! Johnnie. Well—”
Johnnie was Mrs. Harrison’s youngest son. In another minute she was off, retailing a long history in which Johnnie’s adenoids and tonsils bulked largely. Katherine listened sympathetically. Habits die hard. Listening had been her portion for ten years now. “My dear, I wonder if I ever told you about the naval ball at Portsmouth? When Lord Charles admired my gown?” And composedly, kindly, Katherine would reply: “I rather think you have, Mrs. Harfield, but I’ve forgotten about it. Won’t you tell it me again?” And then the old lady would start off full swing, with numerous corrections, and stops, and remembered details. And half of Katherine’s mind would be listening, saying the right things mechanically when the old lady paused …
Now, with the same curious feeling of duality to which she was accustomed, she listened to Mrs. Harrison.
At the end of half an hour, the latter recalled herself suddenly.
“I’ve been talking about myself all this time,” she exclaimed. “And I came here to talk about you and your plans.”
“I don’t know that I’ve got any yet.”
“My dear—you’re not going to stay on here.”
Katherine smiled at the horror in the other’s tone.
“No; I think I want to travel. I’ve never seen much of the world, you know.”
“I should think not. It must have been an awful life for you cooped up here all these years.”
“I don’t know,” said Katherine. “It gave me a lot of freedom.”
She caught the other’s gasp, and reddened a little.
“It must sound foolish—saying that. Of course, I hadn’t much freedom in the downright physical sense—”
“I should think not,” breathed Mrs. Harrison, remembering that Katherine had seldom had that useful thing, a “day off.”
“But in a way, being tied physically gives you lots of scope mentally. You’re always free to think. I’ve had a lovely feeling always of mental freedom.”
Mrs. Harrison shook her head.
“I can’t understand that.”
“Oh! you would if you’d been in my place. But, all the same, I feel I want a change. I want—well, I want things to happen. Oh! not to me—I don’t mean that. But to be in the midst of things—exciting things—even if I’m only the looker-on. You know, things don’t happen in St. Mary Mead.”
“They don’t indeed,” said Mrs. Harrison, with fervour.
“I shall go to London first,” said Katherine. “I have to see the solicitors, anyway. After that, I shall go abroad, I think.”
“Very nice.”
“But, of course, first of all—”
“Yes?”
“I must get some clothes.”
“Exactly what I said to Arthur this morning,” cried the doctor’s wife. “You know, Katherine, you could look possibly positively beautiful if you tried.”
Miss Grey laughed unaffectedly.
“Oh! I don’t think you could ever make a beauty out of me,” she said sincerely. “But I shall enjoy having some really good clothes. I’m afraid I’m talking about myself an awful lot.”
Mrs. Harrison looked at her shrewdly.
“It must be quite a novel experience for you,” she said drily.
Katherine went to say goodbye to old Miss Viner before leaving the village. Miss Viner was two years older than Mrs. Harfield, and her mind was mainly taken up with her own success in outliving her dead friend.
“You wouldn’t have thought I’d have outlasted Jane Harfield, would you?” she demanded triumphantly of Katherine. “We were at school together, she and I. And here we are, she taken, and I left. Who would have thought it?”
“You’ve always eaten brown bread for supper, haven’t you?” murmured Katherine mechanically.
“Fancy your remembering that, my dear. Yes; if Jane Harfield had had a slice of brown bread every evening
