Always calm and unemotional in her judgments, Mrs. Ambrose was
now inclined to be definitely pessimistic. She was not severe upon
individuals so much as incredulous of the kindness of destiny, fate,
what happens in the long run, and apt to insist that this was generally
adverse to people in proportion as they deserved well. Even this theory
she was ready to discard in favour of one which made chaos triumphant,
things happening for no reason at all, and every one groping about in
illusion and ignorance. With a certain pleasure she developed these
views to her niece, taking a letter from home as her test: which gave
good news, but might just as well have given bad. How did she know that
at this very moment both her children were not lying dead, crushed by
motor omnibuses? "It's happening to somebody: why shouldn't it happen
to me?" she would argue, her face taking on the stoical expression of
anticipated sorrow. However sincere these views may have been, they were
undoubtedly called forth by the irrational state of her niece's mind.
It was so fluctuating, and went so quickly from joy to despair, that it
seemed necessary to confront it with some stable opinion which naturally
became dark as well as stable. Perhaps Mrs. Ambrose had some idea that
in leading the talk into these quarters she might discover what was in
Rachel's mind, but it was difficult to judge, for sometimes she would
agree with the gloomiest thing that was said, at other times she refused
to listen, and rammed Helen's theories down her throat with laughter,
chatter, ridicule of the wildest, and fierce bursts of anger even at
what she called the "croaking of a raven in the mud.
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