"It's very kind of you. I don't think I can."
"Why not? You're really very rude."
"I'm extremely busy."
"Nonsense! You must come. Don't look as if I were asking you to do something quite horrible. I shall expect you to tea."
She bound him by his word, and James was forced to go. When he showed the photograph, Mrs. Pritchard-Wallace looked at it with a curious expression. It was the work of a country photographer, awkward and ungainly, with the head stiffly poised, and the eyes hard and fixed; the general impression was ungraceful and devoid of charm, Mrs. Wallace noticed the country fashion of her clothes.
"It's extraordinary that subalterns should always get engaged to the same sort of girl."
James flushed, "It's not a very good one of her."
"They always photograph badly," murmured Mrs. Wallace.
"She's the best girl in the world. You can't think how good, and kind, and simple she is; she reminds me always of an English breeze."
"I don't like east winds myself," said Mrs. Wallace. "But I can see she has all sorts of admirable qualities."