s painfully acute, lacking as they did
the supporting background of organised English life. One night when the
moon was round between the trees, Evelyn M. told Helen the story of
her life, and claimed her everlasting friendship; or another occasion,
merely because of a sigh, or a pause, or a word thoughtlessly dropped,
poor Mrs. Elliot left the villa half in tears, vowing never again to
meet the cold and scornful woman who had insulted her, and in truth,
meet again they never did. It did not seem worth while to piece together
so slight a friendship.

Hewet, indeed, might have found excellent material at this time up
at the villa for some chapters in the novel which was to be called
"Silence, or the Things People don't say." Helen and Rachel had become
very silent. Having detected, as she thought, a secret, and judging that
Rachel meant to keep it from her, Mrs. Ambrose respected it carefully,
but from that cause, though unintentionally, a curious atmosphere of
reserve grew up between them. Instead of sharing their views upon all
subjects, and plunging after an idea wherever it might lead, they spoke
chiefly in comment upon the people they saw, and the secret between
them made itself felt in what they said even of Thornburys and Elliots.
Always calm and unemotional in her judgments, Mrs. Ambrose was
now inclined to be definitely pessimistic. She was not severe upon
individuals so much as incredulous of the kindness of destiny, fate,
what happens in the long run, and apt to insist that this was generally
adverse to people in proportion as they deserved well. Even this theory
she was ready to discard in favour of one which made chaos triumphant,
things happening for no reason at all, and every one groping about in
illusion and ignorance. With a certain pleasure she developed these
views to her niece, taking a letter from home as her test: which gave
good news, but might just as well have given bad. How did she know that
at this very moment both her children were not lying dead, crushed by
motor omnibuses? "It's happening to somebody: why shouldn't it happen
to me?" she would argue, her face taking on the stoical expression of
anticipated sorrow. However sincere these views may have been, they were
undoubtedly called forth by the irrational state of her niece's mind.
It was so fluctuating, and went so quickly from joy to despair, that it
seemed necessary to confront it with some stable opinion which naturally
became dark as