Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons

out of his accusingpresence. But it was a relief about the cooking. At least she would not have to starve during her visit to Cold Comfort.
    She had no notion where Judith’s bedroom might be, but she found a guide to take her there. As she reached the head of the stairs the tall girl in the green cloak, who had just dashed through the kitchen, came running lightly down the corridor towards her. She stopped, as though shot, at the sight of Flora, and stood poised as though for instant flight. ‘Doing the startled bird stunt,’ thought Flora, giving her a pleasant smile; or rather, smiling at the hood which half concealed her cousin’s face.
    ‘What do you want?’ whispered Elfine, stonily.
    ‘Cousin Judith’s bedroom,’ returned Flora. ‘Would you be a lamb and show me the way? It’s so easy to get lost in a large house when everything is strange to one.’
    A pair of large blue eyes looked at her steadily above the green hand-woven hood. Flora pensively noted that they were fine eyes, and that the hood was the wrong green.
    She said, persuasively, ‘Do forgive my saying so, but I would love to see you in blue. Some shades of green are good, of course, but dull greens are
very
trying, I always think. If I were you, I should try blue – something
really
well cut, of course, and very simple – but
definitely
blue. You try it, and see.’
    Elfine made a brusque, boyish movement, and said offhandedly, ‘This way.’
    She strode along the corridor with a long, swinging step, letting the hood fall back so that Flora could see the back of her unbrushed mane of hair; it might have been a good gold if it had been properly dressed and cared for. It all seemed deplorable to Flora.
    ‘Here,’ jerked out Elfine, stopping in front of a closed door.
    Flora thanked her so much; and Elfine, after another long stare at her, strode away.
    ‘She will have to be taken in hand at once,’ thought Flora. ‘Another year, and there will be no doing anything with her; for even if she escapes from this place, she will only go and keep a tea-room in Brighton and go all arty-and-crafty about the feet and waist.’
    And sighing a little at the greatness of the task which shehad set herself to perform, Flora rapped at Judith’s bedroom door, and, in reply to a muttered ‘Come in’, entered.
    Two hundred photographs of Seth, aged from six weeks to twenty-four years, decorated the walls of Judith’s bedroom. She sat by the window in a soiled red dressing-gown with a dirty pack of cards on the table in front of her. The bed was not made. Her hair hung about her face, a nest of lifeless black snakes.
    ‘Good morning,’ said Flora. ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt you if you are busy writing letters; I just wanted to know if you would like me to amuse myself and make my own arrangements, or would you like me to come in and see you about this time every morning. Personally, I think it’s much easier if a guest wanders round and finds her own ways of passing the time. I am sure you are far too busy to want to bother with looking after me.’
    Judith, after a long stare at her young cousin, flung back her head with its load of snakes. The raw air splintered before the harsh onslaught of her laugh.
    ‘Busy! Busy weaving my own shroud, belike. Nay, do what you please, Robert Poste’s child, if so be as you don’t break in on my loneliness. Give me time, and I will atone for the wrong my man did to your father. Give … us … all … time …’ – the words came draggingly and unwillingly – ‘and we will all atone.’
    ‘I suppose,’ suggested Flora, courteously, ‘you would not care to tell me what the wrong was? I do feel it would make matters a little easier …’
    Judith thrust the words aside with a heavy movement of her hand, like the blind outflinging of a tortured beast.
    ‘Haven’t I told you my lips are sealed?’
    ‘Just as you like, of course, Cousin Judith. And there is another thing …’
    Then Flora, as