anglings and trivialities
together.... At the Dower House the most unpleasant thoughts would come
to him. He even had doubts whether in "The Silent Places," he had been
plagiarising, more or less unconsciously, from Henry James's "Great Good
Place."...

On the twenty-first of July Gladys came back repaired and looking none
the worse for her misadventure. Next day he drove her very carefully
over to Pyecrafts, hoping to drug his uneasiness with the pretence of a
grand passion and the praises of "The Silent Places," that beautiful
work of art that was so free from any taint of application, and alas! he
found Mrs. Harrowdean in an evil mood. He had been away from her for ten
days--ten whole days. No doubt Edith had manoeuvred to keep him. She
hadn't! _Hadn't_ she? How was he, poor simple soul! to tell that she
hadn't? That was the prelude to a stormy afternoon.

The burthen of Mrs. Harrowdean was that she was wasting her life, that
she was wasting the poor, good, patient Oliver's life, that for the sake
of friendship she was braving the worst imputations and that he treated
her cavalierly, came when he wished to do so, stayed away heartlessly,
never thought she needed _little_ treats, _little_ attentions, _little_
presents. Did he think she could settle down to her poor work, such as
it was, in neglect and loneliness? He forgot women were dear little
tender things, and had to be made happy and _kept_ happy. Oliver might
not be clever and attractive but he did at least in his clumsy way
understand and try and do his duty....

Towards the end of the second hour of such complaints the spirit of Mr.
Britling rose in revolt. He lifted up his voice against her, he charged
his voice with indignant sorrow and declared that he had come over to
Pyecrafts with no thought in his mind but sweet and loving thoughts,
that he had but waited for Gladys to be ready before he came, that he
had brought over the manuscript of "The Silent Places" with him to
polish and finish up, that "for days and days" he had been longing to do
this in the atmosphere of the dear old summer-house with its distant
view of the dear old sea, and that now all that was impossible, that
Mrs. Harrowdean had made it impossible and that indeed she was rapidly
making everything impossible....

And having delivered himself of this judgment Mr. Britling, a little
surprised at the rapid vigour of his anger, once he had let it loose,
came suddenly to an end of his words