Presently she heard voices on the other side of the hedge—­Mrs. Strang, no doubt, and Mrs. Gaddesden.  She did not take much to either lady.  Mrs. Strang seemed to her full of good intentions, but without practical ability to fit them.  For Mrs. Gaddesden’s type she had an instinctive contempt, the contempt of the clever woman of small means who has had to earn her own living, and to watch in silence the poses and pretences of rich women playing at philanthropy.  But, all the same, she and the servants between them had made Mrs. Gaddesden extremely comfortable, while at the same time rationing her strictly.  ‘I really can be civil to anybody!’ thought Elizabeth complacently.

Suddenly, her own name, and a rush of remarks on the other side of this impenetrable hedge, made her raise her head, startled, from her work, eyes and mouth wide open.

It was Mrs. Gaddesden speaking.

’Yes, she’s gone out.  I went into the library just now to ask her to look out a train for me.  She’s wonderfully good at Bradshaw.  Oh, of course, I admit she’s a very clever woman!  But she wasn’t there.  Forest thinks she’s gone over to Holme Wood, to get father some information he wants.  She asked Forest how to get this this morning.  My dear Margaret,’ with great emphasis, ’there’s no question about it!  If she chooses, she’ll be mistress here before long.  She’s steadily getting father into her hands.  She was never engaged, was she, to look after accounts and farms? and yet here she is, taking everything on.  He’ll grow more and more dependent upon her, and you’ll see!—­I believe he’s been inclined for some time to marry again.  He wants somebody to look after Pamela, and set him free for his hobbies.  He’ll very soon find out that this woman fills the part, and that, if he marries her, he’ll get a classical secretary besides.’

Mrs. Strang’s voice—­a deep husky voice—­interposed.

’Miss Bremerton’s not a woman to be married against her will, that you may be sure of, Alice.’

‘No, but, my dear,’ said the other impatiently, ’every woman over thirty wants a home—­and a husband.  She’d get that here anyway, however bad father’s affairs may be.  And, of course, a position.’

The voices passed on out of hearing.  Elizabeth remained transfixed.  Then with a contemptuous shake of the head, and a bright colour, she returned to her work.

But now, as she sat meditating on the hill-side, this absurd conversation recurred to her.  Absurd, and not absurd!  ’Most women of my sort can do what they have a mind to do,’ she thought to herself, with perfect sang-froid.  ’If I thought it worth while to marry this elderly lunatic—­he’s an interesting lunatic, though!—­I suppose I could do it.  But it isn’t worth while—­not the least.  I’ve done with being a woman!  What interests me is the bit of work—­national work!  Men find that kind of thing enough—­a great many of them.  I mean to find it enough.  A fig for marrying!’