One woman. One woman being happy, and
these piteous multitudes . . .
She was unable to look the vicar in the face. He did not know,
nobody knew, what she was going to do, and from the very beginning she
was unable to look anybody in the face. She excused herself from
making speeches appealing for money. How could she stand up and ask
people for money when she herself was spending so much on her own
selfish pleasure? Nor did it help her or quiet her that, having
actually told Frederick, in her desire to make up for what she was
squandering, that she would be grateful if he would let her have some
money, he instantly gave her a cheque for L100. He asked no questions.
She was scarlet. He looked at her a moment and then looked away. It
was a relief to Frederick that she should take some money. She gave it
all immediately to the organization she worked with, and found herself
more tangled in doubts than ever.
Mrs. Wilkins, on the contrary, had no doubts. She was quite
certain that it was a most proper thing to have a holiday, and
altogether right and beautiful to spend one's own hard-collected
savings on being happy.
"Think how much nicer we shall be when we come back," she said to
Mrs. Arbuthnot, encouraging that pale lady.
No, Mrs. Wilkins had no doubts, but she had fears; and March was
for her too an anxious month, with the unconscious Mr.
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