But Mrs. Wilkins was not listening; for just then, absurd as it seemed, a picture had flashed across her brain, and there were two figures in it sitting together under a great trailing wistaria that stretched across the branches of a tree she didn’t know, and it was herself and Mrs. Arbuthnot—she saw them—she saw them. And behind them, bright in sunshine, were old grey walls—the mediaeval castle—she saw it—they were there . . . She therefore stared at Mrs. Arbuthnot and did not hear a word she said. And Mrs. Arbuthnot stared too at Mrs. Wilkins, arrested by the expression on her face, which was swept by the excitement of what she saw, and was as luminous and tremulous under it as water in sunlight when it is ruffled by a gust of wind. At this moment, if she had been at a party, Mrs. Wilkins would have been looked at with interest. They stared at each other; Mrs. Arbuthnot surprised, inquiringly, Mrs. Wilkins with the eyes of some one who has had a revelation. Of course. That was how it could be done. She herself, she by herself, couldn’t afford it, and wouldn’t be able, even if she could afford it, to go there all alone; but she and Mrs. Arbuthnot together . . . She leaned across the table. “Why don’t we try and get it?” she whispered. Mrs. Arbuthnot became even more wide-eyed. “Get it?” she repeated. “Yes,” said Mrs. Wilkins, still as though she were afraid of being overheard. “Not just sit here and say How wonderful, and then go home to Hampstead without having put out a finger—go home just as usual and see about the dinner and the fish just as we’ve been doing for years and years and will go on doing for years and years. In fact,” said Mrs. Wilkins, flushing to the roots of her hair, for the sound of what she was saying, of what was coming pouring out, frightened her, and yet she couldn’t stop, “I see no end to it. There is no end to it. So that there ought to be a break, there ought to be intervals—in everybody’s interests. Why, it would really be being unselfish to go away and be happy for a little, because we would come back so much nicer. You see, after a bit everybody needs a holiday.” “But—how do you mean, get it?” asked Mrs. Arbuthnot. “Take it,” said Mrs. Wilkins. “Take it?” “Rent it. Hire it. Have it.” “But—do you mean you and I?” “Yes. Between us. Share. Then it would only cost half, and you look so—you look exactly as if you wanted it just as much as I do—as if you ought to have a rest—have something happy happen to you.” “Why, but we don’t know each other.” “But just think how well we would if we went away together for a month! And I’ve saved for a rainy day, and I expect so have you, and this _is_ the rainy day—look at it—” “She is unbalanced,” thought Mrs. Arbuthnot; yet she felt strangely stirred. “Think of getting away for a whole month—from everything—to heaven—”