She forgot the peasants.

Only there remained with her a sense of her own beauty, and in front, luckily, there was a looking-glass.
"I am very beautiful," she thought.
She shifted her hat slightly.

Her husband saw her looking in the glass; and agreed that beauty is important; it is an inheritance; one cannot ignore it.

But it is a barrier; it is in fact rather a bore.

So he drank his soup; and kept his eyes fixed upon the window.
"Quails," said Mrs.Wentworth Williams languidly.