floor with a vigour in harmony with her
feelings. Sheer silliness, these poses. She had no patience with
them. Unable to be or do anything of themselves, the young of the
present generation tried to achieve a reputation for cleverness by
decrying all that was obviously great and obviously good and by
praising everything, however obviously bad, that was different. Apes,
thought Mrs. Fisher, roused. Apes. Apes. And in her sitting-room
she found more apes, or what seemed to her in her present mood more,
for there was Mrs. Arbuthnot placidly drinking coffee, while at the
writing-table, the writing-table she already looked upon as sacred,
using her pen, her own pen brought for her hand alone from Prince of
Wales Terrace, sat Mrs. Wilkins writing; at the table; in her room;
with her pen.

"Isn't this a delightful place?" said Mrs. Arbuthnot cordially.
"We have just discovered it."

"I'm writing to Mellersh," said Mrs. Wilkins, turning her head
and also cordially--as though, Mrs. Fisher thought, she cared a straw
who she was writing to and anyhow knew who the person she called
Mellersh was. "He'll want to know," said Mrs. Wilkins, optimism
induced by her surroundings, "that I've got here safely."

Chapter 11

The sweet smells that were everywhere in San Salvatore were alone
enough to produce concord. They came into the sitting-room from the
flowers on the battlements, and met the ones from the flowers inside
the room, and almost, thought Mrs. Wilkins, could be seen greeting each
other with a holy kiss. Who could be angry in the middle of such
gentlenesses? Who could be acquisitive, selfish, in the old rasped
London way, in the presence of this bounteous beauty?

Yet Mrs. Fisher seemed to be all three of these things.

There was so much beauty, so much more than enough for every one,
that it did appear to be a vain activity to try and make a corner in
it.

Yet Mrs. Fisher was trying to make a corner in it, and had railed
off a portion for her exclusive use.

Well, she would get over that presently; she would get over it
inevitably, Mrs. Wilkins was sure, after a day or two in the
extraordinary atmosphere of peace in that place.

Meanwhile she obviously hadn't even begun to get over it. She
stood looking at her and Rose with an expression that appeared to be
one of anger. Anger. Fancy. Silly old nerve-racked London feelings,
thought Mrs. Wilkins, whose eyes saw the room full of kisses, and
ev