how much sympathy and confidence could be expected of the other, as
though life had suddenly sucked up the mist, and shown them standing one
on either side of a deep trench. In Mrs. Hughs' eyes there was the look
of those who have long discovered that they must not answer back for
fear of losing what little ground they have to stand on; and Cecilia's
eyes were cold and watchful. 'I sympathise,' they seemed to say, 'I
sympathise; but you must please understand that you cannot expect
sympathy if your affairs compromise the members of my family.' Her,
chief thought now was to be relieved of the company of this woman,
who had been betrayed into showing what lay beneath her dumb, stubborn
patience. It was not callousness, but the natural result of being
fluttered. Her heart was like a bird agitated in its gilt-wire cage by
the contemplation of a distant cat. She did not, however, lose her sense
of what was practical, but said calmly: "Your husband was wounded in
South Africa, you told me? It looks as if he wasn't quite.... I think
you should have a doctor!"

The seamstress's answer, slow and matter-of-fact, was worse than her
emotion.

"No, m'm, he isn't mad."

Crossing to the hearth-whose Persian-blue tiling had taken her so
long to find--Cecilia stood beneath a reproduction of Botticelli's
"Primavera," and looked doubtfully at Mrs. Hughs. The Persian kitten,
sleepy and disturbed on the bosom of her blouse, gazed up into her face.
'Consider me,' it seemed to say; 'I am worth consideration; I am of a
piece with you, and everything round you. We are both elegant and rather
slender; we both love warmth and kittens; we both dislike interference
with our fur. You took a long time to buy me, so as to get me perfect.