“No?—Who, then?” asked Herbert.
Mrs. Heywood replied somewhat enigmatically. She gave a deep sigh and said—
“We women are queer things!”
“Queer isn’t the word,” said Herbert.
He stared at the carpet in a gloomy, thoughtful way, as though the pattern were perplexing him.
“Perhaps you’re right about the novels. They’ve been giving her notions, or something.”
Mrs. Heywood crossed the room hurriedly and went over to a drawer in a cabinet, from which she pulled out a number of pamphlets.
“Herbert,” she said solemnly, “she doesn’t read only novels. Look here. Look at all these little books. She simply devours them, Herbert, and then hides them.”
“Naturally, after she has devoured them,” said Herbert irritably. “But what the deuce are they?”
He turned them over one by one, reading out the titles, raising his eyebrows, and then whistling with surprise, and finally looking quite panic-stricken.