'Oh yes, of course.'
'On your birthday last week that magnificent basket of flowers came from
Mr Mitchell,' stated Eglantine.
'Certainly; from the Mitchells rather. But, really, that's nothing. I think you'll be a little disappointed if you think he's at all of the romantic type.'
'I didn't think that,' she answered, though of course she had; 'but something told me—I don't know why—that there's some strange attraction…. I never saw a more perfect wife than you, nor a more perfect mother. But these things should be nipped in the bud, dear. They get hold of you sometimes before you know where you are. And think,' she went on with relish, 'how terrible it would be practically to break up two homes!'
'Oh, really, I must stop you there,' cried Edith. 'You don't think of elopements, do you?'
'I don't say that, necessarily. But I've seen a great deal of life. I've lived everywhere, and just the very households—ménages, as we say abroad—that seem most calm and peaceful, sometimes—It would be, anyhow, very dreadful, wouldn't it—to live a double life?'
Edith thought her friend rather enjoyed the idea, but she said:
'You don't imagine, I hope, that there's anything in the nature of an intrigue going on between me and Mr Mitchell?'
'No, no, no—not now—not yet—but you don't quite know, Edith, how one can be carried away. As I was sitting up in my room—thinking—'
'You think too much,' interrupted Edith.