When, winking and bowing, he resumed his seat by Mary’s side, the applause from the bottom of the table was vociferous.  “Brayvo.  He hev a said it smart.  Never ’eard it better worded.  Well done, Mr. Druitt.”

Half the flowers had lost their color in the extending shadow of the house before Mr. and Mrs. Druitt drove away.  The higgler’s pony groaned between the shafts of a cart that was much too big for him; rice and old shoes struck the wheels; Mrs. Goudie made her last joke; the men at the yard gate shouted; Norah and the children ran a little way along the road—­and then the party was over.

After a few days Mr. Druitt called exactly as usual to offer good bacon.  “Mornin’, ma’am.  Mary sends her love, and the message that she’s as happy as the day is long.”

“And I hope,” said Mavis, “that you are happy too, Mr. Druitt.”

“Mrs. Dale,” he said, “I don’t reco’nize myself.  When I think of the past and the present—­”

Mavis stopped him.  He was of course going to disparage Number One, and she felt that to be so horrid of him.

XXII

The new housemaid was adequately filling Mary’s place, and life at Vine-Pits as of old ran smoothly on.  With increasing means the Dales still refrained from frivolous additions to household expenditure.  Neither craved for further pomp or luxury; both took pleasure in amassing rather than in squandering.

To get up early, work hard, and go to bed thoroughly tired—­all this Mavis took for granted as a correct and undeviating program for one’s days.  Indeed in her complete satisfaction she tended naturally to a mental attitude that was taking for granted all phenomena, whether objective or subjective.  The visible comforts of her home, the love of her husband, the bliss of being the mother of two perfect children, together with her contented thoughts in relation to each and all of these matters, were accepted as so intimately connected with the prime fact of her existence itself that no fear of possible disturbance or cessation ever troubled her.  She no more thought of a break in the grand routine of placid joy than she thought of leaving off the process by which she filled and emptied her lungs when breathing.

As perhaps is usual with the majority of successful people, she never considered whether the hour had not come for diminishing the effort that was producing the success.  They had fixed no goal which when reached should be a resting-place as well as a winning-post.

They were working for the future.  The money they earned was for then, and not for now.  But she very rarely thought of this remote period; and when she did, it was with absolute vagueness.  A lot of money would be required for the children; and eventually she and Will would be old, feeble, unable to go on working, and then a modest amount of money would be required for themselves.