A speech which did not in the least startle Mrs. Prockter, who was
thoroughly used to people being glad to see her. But it startled James.
He had uttered it instinctively; it was the expression of an instinctive
gladness which took hold of him and employed his tongue on its own
account, and which rose superior even to his extreme astonishment at the
visit. He _was_ glad to see her. She was stout and magnificent, in her
silk and her ribbons. He felt that he preferred stout women to thin; and
that, without being aware of it, he had always preferred stout women to
thin. It was a question of taste. He certainly preferred Mrs. Prockter
to Sarah Swetnam. Mrs. Prockter's smile was the smile of a benevolently
cynical creature whose studies in human nature had reached the advanced
stage. James was reassured by this, for it avoided the necessity for
"nonsense."....Yes, she was decidedly better under a roof and a gas-jet
than in the street.

"May I ask if your niece is in?" she said, in a low voice.

"She isn't."

He had been sure that she had called about Helen, if not to see Helen.
But there was a conspiratorial accent in her question for which he was
unprepared. So he sat down at last.

"Well," said Mrs. Prockter, "I'm not sorry she isn't. But if she had been
I should have spoken just the same--not to her, but to you. Now, Mr.
Ollerenshaw, I think you and I are rather alike in some things. I hate
beating about the bush, and I imagine that you do."

He was flattered. And he was perfectly eased by her tone. She was a