"Turk didn't imply that he liked them either. Isn't it painful, though, to think of the following a woman like that can command? What a world to write for—it breaks one's heart!"
"It's an over-rated place," said Turquand; "it's a fat-headed, misguided, beast of a world!"
"It isn't the world," said Cynthia brightly; "it's the people in it!"
A ghastly silence followed her comment, a pause in which the journalist stared at the stove ornament, affecting not to have heard her, and Kent felt the sickness of death in his soul. Shame that his wife should say such a stupid thing in Turquand's presence paralysed his tongue; and Turquand, pitying his embarrassment, turned to the girl with an inquiry about her relatives. Humphrey had taken him to The Hawthorns, as requested, and Turquand, with characteristic perversity, had professed to discover a congenial spirit in Miss Wix. It was about Miss Wix that he asked now.
Cynthia laughed again.
"Yes, your favourite is quite well," she answered—"as cheerful as ever."
"Fate hasn't been kind to Miss Wix," said Turquand; "she's been chastened and chidden too much. In other circumstances——"
"Skittles!" said Humphrey.
"In other circumstances, she might have been sweeter, and less amusing. Personally, I am grateful that there were not other circumstances. I like Miss Wix as she is; she refreshes me."
"I wish she had that effect on me," said Kent, as the guest rose to go and he reflected gloomily that he would hear nothing refreshing until the next time they met. He begged him to remain a little longer. And, when Turquand withstood his persuasions, he insisted on accompanying him to the station, and parted from him on the platform with almost sentimental regret.