And there, away in the
dim mugginess of Hampstead, was Mellersh being angry.
She tried to visualize Mellersh, she tried to see him having
breakfast and thinking bitter things about her; and lo, Mellersh
himself began to shimmer, became rose-colour, became delicate violet,
became an enchanting blue, became formless, became iridescent.
Actually Mellersh, after quivering a minute, was lost in light.
"Well," thought Mrs. Wilkins, staring, as it were, after him.
How extraordinary not to be able to visualize Mellersh; and she who
used to know every feature, every expression of his by heart. She
simply could not see him as he was. She could only see him resolved
into beauty, melted into harmony with everything else. The familiar
words of the General Thanksgiving came quite naturally into her mind,
and she found herself blessing God for her creation, preservation, and
all the blessings of this life, but above all for His inestimable Love;
out loud; in a burst of acknowledgment. While Mellersh, at that moment
angrily pulling on his boots before going out into the dripping
streets, was indeed thinking bitter things about her.
She began to dress, choosing clean white clothes in honour of the
summer's day, unpacking her suit-cases, tidying her adorable little
room.
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