Shelton perceived that he had done her an injustice; she handled “things” as she handled under-gardeners—put them away when they showed signs of running to extremes.
“I can't help that, I 'm afraid,” he answered.
“My dear boy! you'll never get on that way. Now, I want you to promise me you won't talk to Antonia about those sort of things.”
Shelton raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, you know what I mean!”
He saw that to press Mrs. Dennant to say what she meant by “things” would really hurt her sense of form; it would be cruel to force her thus below the surface!
He therefore said, “Quite so!”
To his extreme surprise, flushing the peculiar and pathetic flush of women past their prime, she drawled out:
“About the poor—and criminals—and marriages—there was that wedding, don't you know?”
Shelton bowed his head. Motherhood had been too strong for her; in her maternal flutter she had committed the solecism of touching in so many words on “things.”