Clearly Mrs. Wilkins was unbalanced, but Mrs. Arbuthnot had met
the unbalanced before--indeed she was always meeting them--and they had
no effect on her own stability at all; whereas this one was making her
feel quite wobbly, quite as though to be off and away, away from her
compass points of God, Husband, Home and Duty--she didn't feel as if
Mrs. Wilkins intended Mr. Wilkins to come too--and just for once be
happy, would be both good and desirable. Which of course it wasn't;
which certainly of course it wasn't. She, also, had a nest-egg,
invested gradually in the Post Office Savings Bank, but to suppose that
she would ever forget her duty to the extent of drawing it out and
spending it on herself was surely absurd. Surely she couldn't, she
wouldn't ever do such a thing? Surely she wouldn't, she couldn't ever
forget her poor, forget misery and sickness as completely as that? No
doubt a trip to Italy would be extraordinarily delightful, but there
were many delightful things one would like to do, and what was strength
given to one for except to help one not to do them?

Steadfast as the points of the compass to Mrs. Arbuthnot were the
great four facts of life: God, Husband, Home, Duty. She had gone to
sleep on these facts years ago, after a period of much misery, her head
resting on them as on a pillow; and she had a great dread of being
awakened out of so simple and untroublesome a condition. Therefore it
was that she searched with earnestness for a heading under which to put
Mrs. Wilkins, and in this way illumine and steady her own mind; and
sitting there looking at her uneasily after her last remark, and
feeling herself becoming more and more unbalanced and infected, she
decided pro tem, as the vicar said at meetings, to put her under the
heading Nerves. It was just possible that she ought to go straight
into the category Hysteria, which was often only the antechamber to