Of course with you it can't be
pose as it looks when other people do it. It must be simply
muddle-headed thinking."
He added, very seriously, "You infuriate me."
Mr. Welles, pecking feebly at the ground, the heavy mattock apparently
invested with a malicious life of its own, twisting perversely, heavily
lop-sided in his hands, thought that this did not sound like a polite
thing to say to a lady. And yet the way Vincent said it made it sound
like a compliment, somehow. No, not that; but as though it were awfully
important to him what Mrs. Crittenden did. Perhaps that counted as a
compliment.
He caught only a part of Mrs. Crittenden's answer, which she gave,
lightly laughing, as though she did not wish to admit that Vincent could
be so serious as he sounded. The only part he really heard was when she
ended, ". . . oh, if we are ever going to succeed in forcing order on the
natural disorder of the world, it's going to take everybody's shoulder
to the wheel. Women can't stay ornamental and leisurely, and elegant,
nor even always nice to look at."
Mr. Welles, amazed at the straining effort he needed to put forth to
manage that swing which Mrs. Crittenden did so easily, took less than
his usual small interest in the line of talk which Vincent was so fond
of springing on their neighbor.
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