Whatever she was, however, and whatever her unsteadiness, Mrs.
Arbuthnot found herself sharing her excitement and her longing; and
when the letter had been posted in the letter-box in the hall and
actually was beyond getting back again, both she and Mrs. Wilkins felt
the same sense of guilt.
"It only shows," said Mrs. Wilkins in a whisper, as they turned
away from the letter-box, "how immaculately good we've been all our
lives. The very first time we do anything our husbands don't know
about we feel guilty."
"I'm afraid I can't say I've been immaculately good," gently
protested Mrs. Arbuthnot, a little uncomfortable at this fresh example
of successful leaping at conclusions, for she had not said a word about
her feeling of guilt.
"Oh, but I'm sure you have--I see you being good--and that's why
you're not happy."
"She shouldn't say things like that," thought Mrs. Arbuthnot. "I
must try and help her not to."
Aloud she said gravely, "I don't know why you insist that I'm not
happy. When you know me better I think you'll find that I am. And I'm
sure you don't mean really that goodness, if one could attain it, makes
one unhappy."
"Yes, I do," said Mrs. Wilkins. "Our sort of goodness does. We
have attained it, and we are unhappy. There are miserable sorts of
goodness and happy sorts--the sort we'll have at the mediaeval castle,
for instance, is the happy sort.
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