ge one did not speak
for holding things, for waiting with the luggage.

He had expected an explosion of gratitude and excitement. The
absence of it was incredible. She could not, he concluded, have heard.
Probably she was absorbed in some foolish day-dream. It was
regrettable how childish she remained.

He turned his head--their chairs were in front of the fire--and
looked at her. She was staring straight into the fire, and it was no
doubt the fire that made her face so red.

"I am thinking," he repeated, raising his clear, cultivated voice
and speaking with acerbity, for inattention at such a moment was
deplorable, "of taking you to Italy for Easter. Did you not hear me?"

Yes, she had heard him, and she had been wondering at the
extraordinary coincidence--really most extraordinary--she was just
going to tell him how--how she had been invited--a friend had invited
her--Easter, too--Easter was in April, wasn't it?---her friend had a--
had a house there.

In fact Mrs. Wilkins, driven by terror, guilt and surprise, had
been more incoherent if possible than usual.

It was a dreadful afternoon. Mellersh, profoundly indignant,
besides having his intended treat coming back on him like a blessing to
roost, cross-examined her with the utmost severity. He demanded that
she refuse the invitation. He demanded that, since she had so
outrageously accepted it without consulting him, she should write and
cancel her acceptance. Finding himself up against an unsuspected,
shocking rock of obstinacy in her, he then declined to believe she had
been invited to Italy at all. He declined to believe in this Mrs.
Arbuthnot, of whom till that moment he had never heard; and it was only
when the gentle creature was brought round--with such difficulty, with
such a desire on her part to throw the whole thing up rather than tell
Mr. Wilkins less than the truth--and herself endorsed his wife's
statements that he was able to give them credence. He could not but
believe Mrs. Arbuthnot. She produced the precise effect on him that
she did on Tube officials. She hardly needed to say anything. But
that made no difference to her conscience, which knew and would not let
her forget that she had given him an incomplete impression. "Do you,"
asked her conscience, "see any real difference between an incomplete
impression and a completely stated lie? God sees none."

The remainder of March was a confused bad dream. Both Mrs.
Arbuthnot and