"You mustn't think all life's like that—or all men either."
"That's the temptation—to think that."
"Men are tempted to think it about women too, sometimes."
She nodded. "Yes, of course, that's true. I'm glad you said that. You are good against Curly!"
They had Wellgood in their minds. It was grievance against grievance at Nutley; the charge of inconstancy is eternally bandied to and fro between the sexes—Varium et mutabile semper Femina against "Men were deceivers ever"—Souvent femme varie against the sorrowfully ridiculous chronicles of breach of promise of marriage cases. Plenty of matter for both sides! Probably both sides would be wise to say as little as possible about it. If misogyny is bad, is misandry any better? At all events the knowledge of Wellgood's grievance might help to prevent Vivien's from warping her mind. Hers was the greater, but his was of the same order.
The world incarnated itself to her in the image of the big retriever dog, being so alarming, meaning no harm consciously, meaning indeed affection—with its likelihood of paws soiling white raiment. Andy again stood dressed as the guardian, the policeman. He was to be "good against Curly."
"And Isobel?" she asked.
"I saw her off all right by the twelve-fifteen, Miss Wellgood—to London, you know."
"Yes, to London." To both of them London might have been spelt "Harry."
"She was never really unkind to me," said Vivien thoughtfully. "I expect it did me good."