Then he goes. mrs. voysey is carrying her Notes and Queries. This is a dear old lady, looking older too than probably she is. Placid describes her. She has had a life of little joys and cares, has never measured herself against the world, never even questioned the shape and size of the little corner of it in which she lives. She has loved an indulgent husband and borne eight children, six of them surviving, healthy. That is her history.
mrs. voysey. George Booth went some time ago. He said he thought you'd taken a chill walking round the garden.
mr. voysey. I'm all right.
mrs. voysey. D'you think you have?
mr. voysey. [in her ear.] No.
mrs. voysey. You should be careful, Trench. What did you put on?
mr. voysey. Nothing.
mrs. voysey. How very foolish! Let me feel your hand. You are quite feverish.
mr. voysey. [affectionately.] You're a fuss-box, old lady.