"But what's the use of letting her think there needn't be an inquest? It isn't very considerate of you to -'
"Of course it's not considerate! It wasn't considerate of me to discover that I hadn't a shirt fit to wear this morning, or a pair of socks without holes in them; and it won't be considerate of me when I think up a new annoyance, which I shall do as soon as this inquestbusiness begins to wear thin. You've got a disgustingly sentimental idea that bereaved persons ought to be humoured, cosseted, and given plenty of time in which to indulge their grief. I shouldn't be at all surprised to find that you're one of those paralysing monsters of unselfishness, with a bias towards self-sacrifice, and a strong yen for shouldering other people's burdens."
Sally gave a gasp. "Go on! It's the rankest kind of boloney, but I should be interested to know how you defend it."
"Shouldn't place people under obligations," said Neville briefly. "Nearly always intolerable. Effect on your own character probably disastrous."
"Why?"
"Spiritual conceit."
She polished her monocle. "There's something in what you say," she admitted. "Not much, but a grain of truth. Sorry I tried to butt in on your plans for Miss Fletcher's consolation. I very nearly took a hand in Helen's differences with John, too. A small, inner voice bade me hold my peace."
"A woman's instinct!" said Neville, deeply moved. "Not but what I sympathise with your purely rational desire to disperse the fog they grope in. But one should never forget that some people fair revel in fog."
"Helen isn't revelling in any of this," Sally replied. "Married couples who can't get on rather bore me in the ordinary way, but though I think she's been cavorting around like a prize ass my withers are a trifle wrung by Helen's troubles. They really do seem to have gathered thick and fast upon her. The worst of it is, I can't be sure which way John will jump if he discovers the truth."
"Baffling man -John," agreed Neville.