"Don’t be so perfectly horrid ... and coarse.... You never _used_ to be coarse, whatever you were—I suppose it comes from marrying a farmer’s daughter; but for the matter of that, what am _I_? My poor dear dad is trying hard to be a farmer after spending his best years in the Army. I didn’t mean anything much about your ’aura,’ except, I suppose, that as I’m only recently widowed all my relations with men-visitors should be a little frigid. But I’m simply talking nonsense to gain time, to remember what I wanted to say to you." (A pause.) ... "Roger! Your _dreadful_ letter from that Gouging place, coming just on top of poor Francis’s death, _knocked me over_. The doctors put it all down to Francis, of course ... I don’t deny that his death _did_ upset me.... But I’d been expecting _that_ any time within the last six months.... The doctors told me _definitely_ last winter his heart was very unsound and that he must not over-exert himself in any way or be contraried or argued with.... _That_ was why I gave up the orange-velvet curtains and general redecoration of the dining-room at 6A, Carlton House Terrace—which is dingy beyond belief. I shall do it now.... It’s too early for tea ... won’t you smoke?" (Roger: "Thank you.") "Well, there’s everything on that little table.... No. Not those ones; they’ve got the wee-est flavour of opium.... Obliged to do _something_ for my nerves.... Well, now, about your Gouging letter.... I mean about your marriage.... My _dear_ Roger! _What_ a _gaffe_! I mean, how _could_ you?" "Could I what?" "_Ruin_ your hopes and mine?" "Well, I did hope to marry Lucy ... for at least six months before the knot was tied.... Ever since her husband’s death. So _my_ hopes were fulfilled. And as to you, I never prevented you from marrying Lord S. So where the ruin comes in, I can’t see."