"Ain't they awful! But we won't stay here," she continued, plucking at
Rachel's arm. "Come up to my room."
She bore her past Hewet and Evelyn and the Thornburys and the Elliots.
Hewet stepped forward.
"Luncheon--" he began.
"Miss Vinrace has promised to lunch with me," said Mrs. Flushing, and
began to pound energetically up the staircase, as though the middle
classes of England were in pursuit. She did not stop until she had
slammed her bedroom door behind them.
"Well, what did you think of it?" she demanded, panting slightly.
All the disgust and horror which Rachel had been accumulating burst
forth beyond her control.
"I thought it the most loathsome exhibition I'd ever seen!" she broke
out. "How can they--how dare they--what do you mean by it--Mr. Bax,
hospital nurses, old men, prostitutes, disgusting--"
She hit off the points she remembered as fast as she could, but she was
too indignant to stop to analyse her feelings. Mrs. Flushing watched her
with keen gusto as she stood ejaculating with emphatic movements of her
head and hands in the middle of the room.
"Go on, go on, do go on," she laughed, clapping her hands. "It's
delightful to hear you!"
"But why do you go?" Rachel demanded.
"I've been every Sunday of my life ever since I can remember," Mrs.
Flushing chuckled, as though that were a reason by itself.
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