"Well, the one thing that I pride myself on just the _least_ little bit is an instinct--an instinct for temperament. I would undertake to swear that Chetwode is one of those exceptional people who only love one woman in their lives. He would never think of looking at any one except you. Of course, I know there are many men who don't really appreciate the most perfect woman if she happens to belong to them. But Chetwode isn't like that. He hasn't a fickle nature; he doesn't seek for variety and novelty. What you suppose is impossible to him. Not only now, but it always will be." "You may be quite right about his temperament, Bertie. I dare say you are. But how do you account for the picture?" "I don't. But there is an explanation. I don't pretend to be one of those wonderful thought-readers who, in some public calamity, see in the crystal everything they've read in the papers. You'll soon find out about it. It's some mistake." She held out the picture to him. "But she's very pretty, Bertie." Wilton examined the picture. "A very dull, harmless, insipid style of prettiness," he said consolingly. "The kind of face that once seen is never remembered, as has been so well said of the characteristic British face. This woman is devoted to her husband; goes to church every Sunday, takes great interest in parish work, adores her children----" "How many has she?" He looked at the picture again. "From her expression, I should say two--two boys; and I'm quite sure she's very much more interested in their reports and their colds, their sins and their talents, than in--for instance--Chetwode, or in anything of the kind you seem to suggest." "She never comes to London," said Felicity. "They live nearly all the year round at their country place." "Of course she doesn't come to London. Why should she? She has a domestic face. Her home is her world. If she ever does come to town, she wears a short serge skirt and a blouse with tight sleeves--because she doesn't know they're coming in again--and takes one of the boys to the dentist." "And you can see all that in the porcelain picture?" said Felicity, laughing. "More. Far more. And all in your favour." "But I think you're rather prejudiced, Bertie. You're such a convinced Londoner yourself that you think every one who lives in the country must be a paragon of virtue, just as people who live in the country suppose their London friends to be given up to wickedness and frivolity. Lots of people have a very good time in the country." "No one knows that better than I do. I assure you I'm not a bit prejudiced. I quite believe and realise that people can have a good time anywhere. Why, even in provincial towns--what was that case at Bradford, that astonished everybody so much? However, my point is, that Mrs. Tregelly doesn't." "Why? I think she looks very happy," said Felicity.