She forgot this. Mrs. Fisher did not, and coming inside the
loop, sat down on a narrow stone seat built out of the wall. For a
little she could sit on it; for a little, till the chill began to
penetrate.
She contemplated the figure before her. Undoubtedly a pretty
creature, and one that would have had a success at Farringford.
Strange how easily even the greatest men were moved by exteriors. She
had seen with her own eyes Tennyson turn away from everybody--turn,
positively, his back on a crowd of eminent people assembled to do him
honour, and withdraw to the window with a young person nobody had ever
heard of, who had been brought there by accident and whose one and only
merit--if it be a merit, that which is conferred by chance--was beauty.
Beauty! All over before you can turn round. An affair, one might
almost say, of minutes. Well, while it lasted it did seem able to do
what it liked with men. Even husbands were not immune. There had been
passages in the life of Mr. Fisher . . .
"I expect the journey has upset you," she said in her deep voice.
"What you want is a good dose of some simple medicine. I shall ask
Domenico if there is such a thing in the village as castor oil."
Scrap opened her eyes and looked straight at Mrs. Fisher.
"Ah," said Mrs.
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