her husband in powers of observation

"Hirst and Hewet, they're all the same to me--all covered with spots,"he replied. "He advises her to read Gibbon. Did you know that?"Helen did not know that, but she would not allow herself inferiorto her husband in powers of observation. She merely said: 　　"Nothing would surprise me. Even that dreadful flying man we metat the dance--even Mr. Dalloway--even--""I advise you to be circumspect," said Ridley. "There's Willoughby,remember--Willoughby"; he pointed at a letter. 　　Helen looked with a sigh at an envelope which lay upon her dressing-table. 　　Yes, there lay Willoughby, curt, inexpressive, perpetually jocular,robbing a whole continent of mystery, enquiring after his daughter'smanners and morals--hoping she wasn't a bore, and bidding thempack her off to him on board the very next ship if she were--and then grateful and affectionate with suppressed emotion,and then half a page about his own triumphs over wretched littlenatives who went on strike and refused to load his ships, until heroared English oaths at them, "popping my head out of the windowjust as I was, in my shirt sleeves. The beggars had the sense to scatter.""If Theresa married Willoughby," she remarked, turning the pagewith a hairpin, "one doesn't see what's to prevent Rachel--"But Ridley was now off on grievances of his own connected withthe washing of his shirts, which somehow led to the frequent visitsof Hughling Elliot, who was a bore, a pedant, a dry stick of a man,and yet Ridley couldn't simply point at the door and tell him to go. 　　The truth of it was, they saw too many people. And so on and so on,more conjugal talk pattering softly and unintelligibly, until theywere both ready to go down to tea. 　　The first thing that caught Helen's eye as she came downstairswas a carriage at the door, filled with skirts and feathers noddingon the tops of hats. She had only time to gain the drawing-roombefore two names were oddly mispronounced by the Spanish maid,and Mrs. Thornbury came in slightly in advance of Mrs. Wilfrid Flushing. 　　"Mrs. Wilfrid Flushing," said Mrs. Thornbury, with a wave of her hand. 　　"A friend of our common friend Mrs. Raymond Parry."Mrs. Flushing shook hands energetically. She was a woman offorty perhaps, very well set up and erect, splendidly robust,though not as tall as the upright carriage of her body made her appear.