Margaret did not quite like this speech; she winced away from it
more, from remembering former occasions on which he had tried to
lead her into a discussion (in which he took the complimentary
part) about her own character and ways of going on. She cut his
speech rather short by saying:

'It is natural for me to think of Helstone church, and the walk
to it, rather than of driving up to a London church in the middle
of a paved street.'

'Tell me about Helstone. You have never described it to me. I
should like to have some idea of the place you will be living in,
when ninety-six Harley Street will be looking dingy and dirty,
and dull, and shut up. Is Helstone a village, or a town, in the
first place?'

'Oh, only a hamlet; I don't think I could call it a village at
all. There is the church and a few houses near it on the
green--cottages, rather--with roses growing all over them.'

'And flowering all the year round, especially at Christmas--make
your picture complete,' said he.

'No,' replied Margaret, somewhat annoyed, 'I am not making a
picture. I am trying to describe Helstone as it really is. You
should not have said that.'

'I am penitent,' he answered. 'Only it really sounded like a
village in a tale rather than in real life.'