"Well," said Mrs. Arbuthnot kindly, "that must be a great
pleasure to you."

"Why?" asked Mrs. Wilkins.

"Because," said Mrs. Arbuthnot, a little taken aback, for
constant intercourse with the poor had accustomed her to have her
pronouncements accepted without question, "because beauty--handsomeness--
is a gift like any other, and if it is properly used--"

She trailed off into silence. Mrs. Wilkins's great grey eyes
were fixed on her, and it seemed suddenly to Mrs. Arbuthnot that
perhaps she was becoming crystallized into a habit of exposition, and
of exposition after the manner of nursemaids, through having an
audience that couldn't but agree, that would be afraid, if it wished,
to interrupt, that didn't know, that was, in fact, at her mercy.

But Mrs. Wilkins was not listening; for just then, absurd as it
seemed, a picture had flashed across her brain, and there were two
figures in it sitting together under a great trailing wisteria that
stretched across the branches of a tree she didn't know, and it was
herself and Mrs. Arbuthnot--she saw them--she saw them. And behind
them, bright in sunshine, were old grey walls--the mediaeval castle
--she saw it--they were there . . .

She therefore stared at Mrs. Arbuthnot and did not hear a word
she said. And Mrs. Arbuthnot stared too at Mrs. Wilkins, arrested by
the expression on her face, which was swept by the excitement of what
she saw, and was as luminous and tremulous under it as water in
sunlight when it is ruffled by a gust of wind. At this moment, if she