A vaguely grandiose state of
mental self-confidence is much too agreeable to be disturbed recklessly
by such a delicate investigation. Perhaps if I had had a helpful woman
at my elbow, a dear, flattering acute, devoted woman . . . There are in
life moments when one positively regrets not being married. No! I don't
exaggerate. I have said--moments, not years or even days. Moments. The
farmer's wife obviously could not be asked to assist. She could not have
been expected to possess the necessary insight and I doubt whether she
would have known how to be flattering enough. She was being helpful in
her own way, with an extraordinary black bonnet on her head, a good mile
off by that time, trying to discover in the village shops a piece of
eatable cake. The pluck of women! The optimism of the dear creatures!
And she managed to find something which looked eatable. That's all I
know as I had no opportunity to observe the more intimate effects of that
comestible. I myself never eat cake, and Mrs. Fyne, when she arrived
punctually, brought with her no appetite for cake.
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