Maude, for all her amiability, was not gushing by nature, and this long speech caused her great astonishment when she looked back upon it. But at the moment it came so naturally from her heart that she never paused to think of its oddity. Her enthusiasm was a little chilled, however, by the way in which her advances were received. Violet Wright’s eyes were more kindly than ever, but she shook her head.
‘No, I don’t suppose we shall ever meet again. I don’t think I could ask you to visit me in London. I wanted to see you, and I have seen you, but that, I fear, must be the end of it.’
Maude’s lip trembled in a way which it had when she was hurt.
‘Why did you wish to see me, then?’ she asked.
‘On account of that slight acquaintance with your husband. I thought it would be interesting to see what sort of wife he had chosen.’
‘I hope you are not disappointed,’ said Maude, making a roguish face.
‘He has done very well—better than I expected.’
‘You had not much respect for his taste, then?’
‘Oh yes, I always thought highly of his taste.’
‘You have such a pretty way of putting things. You know my husband very slightly, but still I can see that you know the world very well. I often wonder if I am really the best kind of woman that he could have married. Do you think I am, Mrs. Wright?’