“So it’s Cunnie already you call him!”
“Dr Cuncliffe and I scarcely meet.”
“People talk of the immense sameness of marriage, Mrs Montgomery; but all the same, my dear, a widow’s not much to be envied.”
“There are times, it’s true, Mrs Bedley, when a woman feels she needs fostering; but it’s a feeling she should try to fight against.”
“Ah my dear, I never could resist a mon!” Mrs Bedley exclaimed.
Mrs Montgomery sighed.
“Once,” she murmured meditatively, “men (those procurers of delights) engaged me utterly.... I was their slave.... Now.... One does not burn one’s fingers twice, Mrs Bedley.”
Mrs Bedley grew introspective.
“My poor husband sometimes would be a little frightening, a little fierce ... at night, my dear, especially. Yet how often now I miss him!”
“You’re better off as you are, Mrs Bedley, believe me,” Mrs Montgomery declared, looking round for the little prince who was amusing himself on the library-steps.