The doctor says it's nothing but
dyspepsia. However, don't let's talk about poor little me and my silly
complaints. Perhaps the tea will do me good."
He protested again, but his experience of intimate civilisation was too
brief to allow him to protest with effectiveness. The truth was, he
could not say these things naturally. He had to compose them, and then
pronounce them, and the result failed in the necessary air of
spontaneity. He could not help thinking what marvellous self-control
women had. Now, when he had a headache--which happily was seldom--he
could think of nothing else and talk of nothing else; the entire
universe consisted solely of his headache. And here she was overcome
with a headache, and during more than half-an-hour had not even
mentioned it!
She began talking gossip about the Fearnses and the Swetnams, and she
mentioned rumours concerning Henry Mynors (who had scruples against
dancing) and Anna Tellwright, the daughter of that rich old skinflint
Ephraim Tellwright. No mistake; she was on the inside of things in
Bursley society! It was just as if she had removed the front walls of
every house and examined every room at her leisure, with minute
particularity.
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