"She doesn't? Dear me!"
"But I think it might be better, after all."
"What is it, then? Why can't she be contented? My dear lady, my poor intelligence struggles with the subject, but you and Helen—hospitals, drudgery, dirt, pah! vermin. I knew she had the notion. I labelled it properly, 'Notion.' I was aware the Helen estate was not returning the—a—interest it should. I admit my commission from it has in consequence this summer been very meagre—most irregular. I believe I appreciate, I strive to understand, your difficult sex—my lifelong endeavor—but at present, so to speak, if I may say so, it 'gets me.'"
"Helen has perhaps more nervous energy than is common."
"Nervous! But might we not almost say, of late, feverish?"
"Perhaps we might."
"Then what—or rather, why?"
"If Helen had her secrets it would not follow that she would confess them to me, and surely you would know as quickly as I if she had any. But if I have any intimation you must let me keep it, and only say that, perhaps, it would be good for her."
Thaddeus shrugged his shoulders, and went down, immaculately, to the post-office to consult.
"Pete, the opportunities you've lost to study women! But you might, possibly, say something at random. What's all this for?"