How true it was what Ruskin said, that evil communications corrupt good manners.  But did Ruskin say it?  On second thoughts she was not sure, but it was just the sort of thing he would have said if he had said it, and in any case it was true.  Merely hearing Mrs. Wilkins’s evil communications at meals—­she did not listen, she avoided listening, yet it was evident she had hear—­those communications which, in that they so often were at once vulgar, indelicate and profane, and always, she was sorry to say, laughed at by Lady Caroline, must be classed as evil, was spoiling her own mental manners.  Soon she might not only think but say.  How terrible that would be.  If that were the form her breaking-out was going to take, the form of unseemly speech, Mrs. Fisher was afraid she would hardly with any degree of composure be able to bear it.

At this stage Mrs. Fisher wished more than ever that she were able to talk over her strange feelings with some one who would understand.  There was, however, no one who would understand except Mrs. Wilkins herself.  She would.  She would know at once, Mrs. Fisher was sure, what she felt like.  But this was impossible.  It would be as abject as begging the very microbe that was infecting one for protection against its disease.

She continued, accordingly, to bear her sensations in silence, and was driven by them into that frequent aimless appearing in the top garden which presently roused even Scrap’s attention.

Scrap had noticed it, and vaguely wondered at it, for some time before Mr. Wilkins inquired of her one morning as he arranged her cushions for her—­he had established the daily assisting of Lady Caroline into her chair as his special privilege—­whether there was anything the matter with Mrs. Fisher.

At that moment Mrs. Fisher was standing by the eastern parapet, shading her eyes and carefully scrutinizing the distant white houses of Mezzago.  They could see her through the branches of the daphnes.

“I don’t know,” said Scrap.

“She is a lady, I take it,” said Mr. Wilkins, “who would be unlikely to have anything on her mind?”

“I should imagine so,” said Scrap, smiling.

“If she has, and her restlessness appears to suggest it, I should be more than glad to assist her with advice.”

“I am sure you would be most kind.”

“Of course she has her own legal adviser, but he is not on the spot.  I am.  And a lawyer on the spot,” said Mr. Wilkins, who endeavoured to make her conversation when he talked to Lady Caroline light, aware that one must be light with young ladies, “is worth two in—­we won’t be ordinary and complete the proverb, but say London.”

“You should ask her.”

“Ask her if she needs assistance?  Would you advise it?  Would it not be a little—­a little delicate to touch on such a question, the question whether or no a lady has something on her mind?”