It had been the custom among the women of Beer Village to work in their doorways on sunny afternoons, and Humility followed it.

She looked up smiling.  “Taffy is down by the shore, I think.”

“I didn’t come to look for him.  What beautiful work!”

“It comes in handy.  Won’t you step inside and let me make you a cup of tea?”

“No, I’ll sit here and watch you.”  Humility pulled in her skirts, and Honoria found room on the doorstep beside her.  “Please don’t stop.  It’s wonderful.  Now I know where Taffy gets his cleverness.”

“You are quite wrong.  This is only a knack.  All his cleverness comes from his father.”

“Oh, books!  Of course, Mr. Raymond knows all about books.  He’s writing one, isn’t he?”

Mrs. Raymond nodded.

“What about?”

“It’s about St. Paul’s Epistle to the Hebrews; in Greek, you know.  He has been working at it for years.”

“And he’s indoors working at it now?  What funny things men do!” She was silent for a while, watching Humility’s bobbins.  “But I suppose it doesn’t matter just what they do.  The great thing is to do it better than anyone else.  Does Mr. Raymond think Taffy clever?”

“He never talks about it.”

“But he thinks so.  I know; because at lessons when he says anything to Taffy it’s quite different from the way he talks to George and me.  He doesn’t favour him, of course; he’s much too fair.  But there’s a difference.  It’s as if he expected Taffy to understand.  Did Mr. Raymond teach him all those stories he knows?”

“What stories?”

“Fairy tales, and that sort of thing.”

“Good gracious me, no!”

“Then you must have.  And you are clever, after all.  Asking me to believe you’re not, and making that beautiful lace all the while, under my very eyes!”

“I’m not a bit clever.  Here’s the pattern, you see, and there’s the thread, and the rest is only practice.  I couldn’t make the pattern out of my head.  Besides, I don’t like clever women.”

“A woman must try to be something.”  Honoria felt that this was vague, but wanted to argue.

“A woman wants to be loved,” said Mrs. Raymond thoughtfully.  “There’s such a heap to be done about the house that she won’t find time for much else.  Besides, if she has children, she’ll be planning for them.”

“Isn’t that rather slow?”

Humility wondered where the child had picked up the word.  “Slow?” she echoed, with her eyes on the horizon beyond the dunes.  “Most things are slow when you look forward to them.”

“But these fairy-tales of yours?”