Read I'll Never Marry! for Free Online

large bowl, and sat on a nearby bench in the sunshine, with the basket of peas beside her. Somehow Hilda ’ s bitter dislike of Andrew made her wish to find some sort of excuse for him. Contrariness on her part, no doubt, but there it was.
    Hilda ’ s reply to this observation was lost, for Ruth and Winnie, followed at a distance by the hesitant Maureen, came running up to her, with the announcement that it was their day to help with the preparations for dinner.
    “ Miss Emberley doesn ’ t want more than two of you, ” Hilda exclaimed. “ An extra one will be in her way. It ’ s not Maureen ’ s turn, surely? ”
    “ No, but Maureen has never shelled peas in her life, ” Winnie explained, coaxingly, slipping her arm round Hilda ’ s waist. “ Let her help for a little while. She does so want to. ”
    “ Oh, you kids. It ’ s impossible to organize you. ” With a mollified smile, induced no doubt by Winnie ’ s cajolery, Hilda went back into the house, to get on with the thousand and one jobs which awaited her capable hands. And the children, dragging up some garden stools, set to work with zest to help Catherine with the peas.
    Rosy-cheeked Ruth, who was keen on outdoor activities, took care to explain to Catherine that though “ our Matron ” couldn ’ t cope with growing enough vegetables for them all, she was a “ frightfully clever ” gardener.
    “ Our fruit trees will soon be doing better than anyone ’ s, ” she declared, “ and we grow all kinds of lovely salad things besides lettuces. As for our herb garden, people come from all over the place to beg Matron for roots.”
    “ She ’ s a much finer cook than most of the other children ’ s mothers, ” Winnie put in, “ that ’ s why she needs all sorts of herbs. At the W o men ’ s Institute they think no end of her. When I was having tea with Hetty Briggs the other day her mother was saying that our Matron was the most valuable member there. ”
    Listening to the two girls ’ inno c ent boasting of the merits of their beloved Matron, Catherine ’ s mind strayed, after a while, to Hilda ’ s sarcastic remarks about Andrew Playdle. Surely if Andrew were to pay a visit to the Home, and learn to know the children, his churlish attitude would change. How could any normal person spend an hour among them, and still cherish feelings of animosity?
    Surely he would find their loyalty to “ our Matron ” oddly touching. And the behaviour of the children—surely it contrasted well with that of youngsters in more fortunate circumstances. Look at Winnie and Ruth, for instance. Girls of that age did not usually care to have a younger child tagging after them. Yet they had made it their business to see that shy, lonely little Maureen should have the treat she wanted—even so simple a treat as shelling peas.
    And then, as she helped the children take the empty husks to the compost heap, common sense came to h e r rescue.
    What did it matter, anyway, whether Andrew Playdle took an interest in the children or not? It wasn ’ t likely that they ever gave him a thought. And why, indeed, should they, since, according to Hilda, they seldom set eyes on him?
    Before long, however, she found that she had been wrong in accepting this statement from Hilda at its face value. A townswoman, born and bred, Hilda, when she accompanied the children on their walks kept chiefly to the high road. Catherine, on the other hand, struck out at once for the fields and woods, and since Andrew ’ s estates covered a large acreage she frequently caught glimpses of his big, tweed-clad figure and coppery head. Usually he was alone—but for his spaniel bitch—or accompanied by a man whom she guessed rightly to be his bailiff; but sometimes, at intervals, he had a girl with him—a girl whom her keen eyes recognized instantly as Beryl Osworth.
    If he, for his part, noticed her, he gave no sign. But one June afternoon when Catherine was out with some of the children on a