"Oh, only because I saw it too, and I thought perhaps--I thought
somehow--" she stammered.

Whereupon Mrs. Arbuthnot, her mind being used to getting people
into lists and divisions, from habit considered, as she gazed
thoughtfully at Mrs. Wilkins, under what heading, supposing she had to
classify her, she could most properly be put.

"And I know you by sight," went on Mrs. Wilkins, who, like all
the shy, once she was started; lunged on, frightening herself to more
and more speech by the sheer sound of what she had said last in her
ears. "Every Sunday--I see you every Sunday in church--"

"In church?" echoed Mrs. Arbuthnot.

"And this seems such a wonderful thing--this advertisement about
the wisteria--and--"

Mrs. Wilkins, who must have been at least thirty, broke off and
wriggled in her chair with the movement of an awkward and embarrassed
schoolgirl.

"It seems so wonderful," she went on in a kind of burst, "and--it
is such a miserable day . . ."

And then she sat looking at Mrs. Arbuthnot with the eyes of an
imprisoned dog.

"This poor thing," thought Mrs. Arbuthnot, whose life was spent
in helping and alleviating, "needs advice."