"
"But why--" began Mrs. Arbuthnot again.
"It's quite natural," Mrs. Wilkins interrupted, for Rose was
looking stubborn; and turning to Mrs. Fisher she said that although
sharing things with friends was pleasant she could understand that Mrs.
Fisher, still steeped in the Prince of Wales Terrace attitude to life,
did not yet want to, but that she would get rid of that after a bit and
feel quite different. "Soon you'll want us to share," said Mrs.
Wilkins reassuringly. "Why, you may even get so far as asking me to
use your pen if you knew I hadn't got one."
Mrs. Fisher was moved almost beyond control by this speech. To
have a ramshackle young woman from Hampstead patting her on the back as
it were, in breezy certitude that quite soon she would improve, stirred
her more deeply than anything had stirred her since her first discovery
that Mr. Fisher was not what he seemed. Mrs. Wilkins must certainly be
curbed. But how? There was a curious imperviousness about her. At
that moment, for instance, she was smiling as pleasantly and with as
unclouded a face as if she were saying nothing in the least
impertinent. Would she know she was being curbed? If she didn't know,
if she were too tough to feel it, then what? Nothing, except
avoidance; except, precisely, one's own private sitting-room.
Pages:
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160