So ran her thoughts, while her faculties were busy with Cecil. It
was another of those dreadful engagement calls. Mrs. Butterworth
had wanted to see him, and he did not want to be seen. He did not
want to hear about hydrangeas, why they change their colour at
the seaside. He did not want to join the C. O. S. When cross he
was always elaborate, and made long, clever answers where "Yes"
or "No" would have done. Lucy soothed him and tinkered at the
conversation in a way that promised well for their married peace.
No one is perfect, and surely it is wiser to discover the
imperfections before wedlock. Miss Bartlett, indeed, though not
in word, had taught the girl that this our life contains nothing
satisfactory. Lucy, though she disliked the teacher, regarded the
teaching as profound, and applied it to her lover.
"Lucy," said her mother, when they got home, "is anything the
matter with Cecil?"
The question was ominous; up till now Mrs. Honeychurch had
behaved with charity and restraint.
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