"I'm an old woman," said Mrs. Fisher, "and I need a room to
myself. I cannot get about, because of my stick. As I cannot get
about I have to sit. Why should I not sit quietly and undisturbed, as
I told you in London I intended to? If people are to come in and out
all day long, chattering and leaving doors open, you will have broken
the agreement, which was that I was to be quiet."
"But we haven't the least wish--" began Mrs. Arbuthnot, who was
again cut short by Mrs. Wilkins.
"We're only too glad," said Mrs. Wilkins, "for you to have this
room if it makes you happy. We didn't know about it, that's all. We
wouldn't have come in if we had--not till you invited us, anyhow. I
expect," she finished looking down cheerfully at Mrs. Fisher, "you soon
will." And picking up her letter she took Mrs. Arbuthnot's hand and
drew her towards the door.
Mrs. Arbuthnot did not want to go. She, the mildest of women,
was filled with a curious and surely unchristian desire to stay and
fight. Not, of course, really, nor even with any definitely aggressive
words. No; she only wanted to reason with Mrs. Fisher, and to reason
patiently. But she did feel that something ought to be said, and that
she ought not to allow herself to be rated and turned out as if she
were a schoolgirl caught in ill behaviour by Authority.
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