Mr. Fisher had always been properly met.
Never once in his married life had he gone unmet at a station, nor had
he ever not been seen off. These observances, these courtesies,
strengthened the bonds of marriage, and made the husband feel he could
rely on his wife's being always there. Always being there was the
essential secret for a wife. What would have become of Mr. Fisher if
she had neglected to act on this principle she preferred not to think.
Enough things became of him as it was; for whatever one's care in
stopping up, married life yet seemed to contain chinks.
But Mrs. Wilkins took no pains. She just walked down the hill
singing--Mrs. Fisher could hear her--and picked up her husband in the
street as casually as if he were a pin. The three others, still in
bed, for it was not nearly time to get up, heard her as she passed
beneath their windows down the zigzag path to meet Mr. Wilkins, who was
coming by the morning train, and Scrap smiled, and Rose sighed, and
Mrs. Fisher rang her bell and desired Francesca to bring her her
breakfast in her room. All three had breakfast that day in their
rooms, moved by a common instinct to take cover.
Scrap always breakfasted in bed, but she had the same instinct
for cover, and during breakfast she made plans for spending the whole
day where she was.
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