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 woman to whom you could talk sense.  And he perceived that, though a casual observer might fail to find the points of resemblance between them, they were rather alike.

“I expect,” said he, “it’s pretty well known i’ this town as I’m not one that beats about the bush.”

“Good!” said she.  “You know my stepson, Emanuel?”

“He was here a bit since,” James replied.

“What do you think of him?”

“How?”

“As a man?”

“Well, missis, as we are na’ beating about the bush, I think he’s a foo’.”

“Now that’s what I like!” she exclaimed, quite ravished.  “He is a fool, Mr. Ollerenshaw—­between ourselves.  I can see that you and I will get on together splendidly!  Emanuel is a fool.  I can’t help it.  I took him along with my second husband, and I do my best for him.  But I’m not responsible for his character.  As far as that goes, he isn’t responsible for it, either.  Not only is he a fool, but he is a conceited fool, and an idle fool; and he can’t see a joke.  At the same time he is quite honest, and I think he’s a gentleman.  But being a gentleman is no excuse for being a fool; indeed, I think it makes it worse.”

“Nothing can make it worse,” James put in.

She drew down the corners of her lips and stroked her fine grey hair.

“You say Emanuel has been here to-day?”