"Put it that way if you like," she said. "But there is another—the fact of a woman."
"But I am content," she said almost piteously. "Why does everybody—you, mother—want me to marry?"
"You have left out Anthony," remarked Kitty rigorously. "I and your mother, because we are women; he, because he is a man."
They had come to the populated lawn again, and further intimate conversation would next moment be impossible. Kitty turned to her hurriedly.
"Oh, my dear, it is like having a tooth out," she said. "No doubt it is a shock. But it no longer aches. There is Mr. Anthony; let him ask you, anyhow. That is bare justice; and remember what I have said."
"I shall not forget it," said Maud.
Under no circumstances would Kitty have bitten out her tongue, so it would be a mere figure of speech to say that she would have even been inclined to had she known precisely what effect her volubility would have had on her friend. But it is certain that she would sooner have bitten it very hard—so that it hurt, in fact—could she have foreseen in how opposite a direction to that intended her words had inclined her. As it was, she left the two together in a small solitude encompassed by company, and went to join her husband with a light heart and an approving conscience—a delicious and rare combination. Anthony, at any rate, was primed and ready.
"Do take me to see the rose-garden," he said to Maud, with a banalité that seemed to him unavoidable. He was quite aware of it, and regretted the necessity, for, to do him justice, he had tried many other lures that afternoon. "I hear it is quite beautiful," he went on; "and Mrs. Brereton promised me you should show it me after tea. And it is after tea," he added.