"
These confidences, thought Mrs. Fisher . . . and no excuse
whatever for Mrs. Wilkins, who was making them entirely on plain water.
Mrs. Arbuthnot, judging from her face, quite shared Mrs. Fisher's
disapproval; she was fidgeting.
"But didn't he?" asked Lady Caroline--every bit as shamelessly
unreticent as Mrs. Wilkins.
"Mellersh? He showed no signs of it."
"Delicious," murmured Lady Caroline.
"Really--" said Mrs. Fisher.
"I didn't think it was at all delicious. I was miserable. And
now, since I've been here, I simply stare at myself being miserable.
As miserable as that. And about Mellersh."
"You mean he wasn't worth it."
"Really--" said Mrs. Fisher.
"No, I don't. I mean I've suddenly got well."
Lady Caroline, slowly twisting the stem of her glass in her
fingers, scrutinized the lit-up face opposite.
"And now I'm well I find I can't sit here and gloat all to
myself. I can't be happy, shutting him out. I must share. I
understand exactly what the Blessed Damozel felt like.
"What was the Blessed Damozel?" asked Scrap.
"Really--" said Mrs. Fisher; and with such emphasis this time
that Lady Caroline turned to her.
"Ought I to know?" she asked. "I don't know any natural history.
It sounds like a bird."
"It is a poem," said Mrs.
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