But this had gone, entirely, in a moment, and she was rushing
on, "And, Neale, what _do_ you think? She has worked on him, and he has
worked on himself till he's got himself in a morbid state. He thinks
perhaps he ought to leave Ashley that he loves so much and go down to
live where this horrid cousin lives. . . ."
Her husband's astonishment at this was as great as she could have
desired. None of Neale's usual, unsurprised acceptance of everything
that happened as being in the nature of things, which occasionally so
rubbed her the wrong way, and seemed to her so wilfully phlegmatic. He
was sincerely amazed and astounded; that was plain from his exclamation,
his tone, his face. Of course he wasn't as outraged as she, but that
wasn't to be expected, since he hadn't seen so much of that dear old
life-worn man, nor grown so protectingly fond of him. She revelled in
Neale's astonishment as bearing out her own feeling. "Isn't it crazy,
Neale! Don't you think it crazy! Is there the slightest justification
for it? You feel, just as I do, don't you, that it's a perfectly
unbalanced, fanatical, _fool_ish thing to think of doing, his going down
into that hopeless mess?"
But her husband had had a moment's time, while she exclaimed, to get
back to his usual unhurried post in life.
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