Wilkins had intended to suggest that
Mr. Wilkins was a villa.
"I believe," she had thought when it was at last over--it took a
long while--"that anybody would quarrel about anything when they've not
left off being together for a single day for two whole years. What we
both need is a holiday."
"My husband," went on Mrs. Wilkins to Mrs. Arbuthnot, trying to
throw some light on herself, "is a solicitor. He--" She cast about for
something she could say elucidatory of Mellersh, and found: "He's very
handsome."
"Well," said Mrs. Arbuthnot kindly, "that must be a great
pleasure to you."
"Why?" asked Mrs. Wilkins.
"Because," said Mrs. Arbuthnot, a little taken aback, for
constant intercourse with the poor had accustomed her to have her
pronouncements accepted without question, "because beauty--handsomeness--
is a gift like any other, and if it is properly used--"
She trailed off into silence. Mrs. Wilkins's great grey eyes
were fixed on her, and it seemed suddenly to Mrs. Arbuthnot that
perhaps she was becoming crystallized into a habit of exposition, and
of exposition after the manner of nursemaids, through having an
audience that couldn't but agree, that would be afraid, if it wished,
to interrupt, that didn't know, that was, in fact, at her mercy.
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