It would have been about
three o'clock--no it couldn't have been three, because I had got back
home and was standing in the hall when it struck three, and my clock's
a shade fast if anything. Well; Colonel Boucher said to me, 'Haw, hum,
quite a domestic crisis, by Jove.' And so I pretended I didn't know,
and he told me all about it. So I said 'Well, it is a domestic crisis,
and you'll lose Atkinson.' 'Haw, hum,' said he, 'and poor Jane, I
should say, Mrs Weston, will lose Elizabeth.' There!"
She got up and lit a cigarette.
"Oh, Georgie, do you grasp the inwardness of that?" she said. "Their
dear old hearts were laid bare by the trouble that had come upon them,
and each of them spoke of the other, as each felt for the other.
Probably neither of them had said Jacob or Jane in the whole course of
their lives. But the Angel of the Lord descended and troubled the
waters. If you think that's profane, have some more vermouth. It's
making me brilliant, though you wouldn't have thought it. Now listen!"
She sat down again close to him, her face brimming with a humorous
enthusiasm. Humour in Riseholme was apt to be a little unkind; if you
mentioned the absurdities of your friends, there was just a speck of
malice in your wit. But with her there was none of that, she gave an
imitation of Mrs Weston with the most ruthless fidelity, and yet it was
kindly to the bottom.
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