"It is true, nevertheless. They merely adopt the thoughts of those who think as they do, and suit their opinions to their likes and dislikes. Unbiased judgement is beyond them."
"Then I'm not prejudiced," said old Miss Firs-Robinson, with another laugh. "Your words prove it, because I beg you to understand I have as sound an opinion as any one I know on most matters. And I don't suit it to my likes or dislikes either, because I never could bear Mrs. Darkham; yet I think there is some good in her."
"Who is Mrs. Darkham?" asked Mr. Browne. "That big red woman with the voice of a costermonger I met here last year?"
"Yes. She slipped on an orange-peel yesterday, and is now hardly expected to recover."
"After all, there is something in orange-peel," said Mr. Browne thoughtfully.
"You think her death will be welcomed by some people?" asked Miss Firs-Robinson, pushing up her pince-nez into better position for battle. She had always suspected Mrs. Darkham's relations with her husband; though, evidently, Mrs. Greatorex had not.
"By herself! Herself!" said Mr. Browne severely. "Just think of the burden she has had to carry about with her for all these past years."
"There, you see!" cried Miss Firs-Robinson triumphantly to Mrs. Greatorex. "Dicky has noticed it too."
It was delightful for her to know that somebody besides herself had seen that the poor woman now lying low had not been altogether kindly treated by her husband.
"I don't know what he has noticed," said Mrs. Greatorex coldly.