Fisher.
"Meredith of course," said Mrs. Fisher rather shortly. "I
remember a particular week-end"--she continued. "My father often took
me, but I always remember this week-end particularly--"
"Did you know Keats?" eagerly interrupted Mrs. Wilkins.
Mrs. Fisher, after a pause, said with sub-acid reserve that she
had been unacquainted with both Keats and Shakespeare.
"Oh of course--how ridiculous of me!" cried Mrs. Wilkins,
flushing scarlet. "It's because"--she floundered--"it's because the
immortals somehow still seem alive, don't they--as if they were here,
going to walk into the room in another minute--and one forgets they are
dead. In fact one knows perfectly well that they're not dead--not
nearly so dead as you and I even now," she assured Mrs. Fisher, who
observed her over the top of her glasses.
"I thought I saw Keats the other day," Mrs. Wilkins incoherently
proceeded, driven on by Mrs. Fisher's look over the top of her glasses.
"In Hampstead--crossing the road in front of that house--you know--the
house where he lived--"
Mrs. Arbuthnot said they must be going.
Mrs. Fisher did nothing to prevent them.
"I really thought I saw him," protested Mrs. Wilkins, appealing
for belief first to one and then to the other while waves of colour
passed over her face, and totally unable to stop because of Mrs.
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