all about her scheme of hours。 Mrs。 Hilbery was secretly
delighted。 Her relief at finding herself excused
manifested itself in a series of sidelong glances of sly
humor in her daughter’s direction； and the indulgence
put her in the best of spirits。 Was she to be allowed merely
to sit and talk？ It was so much pleasanter to sit in a nice
room filled with all sorts of interesting odds and ends
which she hadn’t looked at for a year； at least； than to
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seek out one date which contradicted another in a dictionary。
“We’ve all had perfect husbands；” she concluded； generously
forgiving Sir Francis all his faults in a lump。 “Not
that I think a bad temper is really a fault in a man。 I
don’t mean a bad temper；” she corrected herself； with a
glance obviously in the direction of Sir Francis。 “I should
say a quick； impatient temper。 Most； in fact ALL great
men have had bad tempers—except your grandfather；
Katharine；” and here she sighed； and suggested that；
perhaps； she ought to go down to the library。
“But in the ordinary marriage； is it necessary to give
way to one’s husband？” said Katharine； taking no notice
of her mother’s suggestion； blind even to the depression
which had now taken possession of her at the thought of
her own inevitable death。
“I should say yes； certainly；” said Lady Otway； with a
decision most unusual for her。
“Then one ought to make up one’s mind to that before
one is married；” Katharine mused； seeming to address
herself。
Mrs。 Hilbery was not much interested in these remarks；
which seemed to have a melancholy tendency； and to
revive her spirits she had recourse to an infallible rem
edy—she looked out of the window。
“Do look at that lovely little blue bird！” she exclaimed；
and her eye looked with extreme pleasure at the soft sky。
at the trees； at the green fields visible behind those trees；
and at the leafless branches which surrounded the body
of the small blue tit。 Her sympathy with nature was exquisite。
“Most women know by instinct whether they can give it
or not；” Lady Otway slipped in quickly； in rather a low
voice； as if she wanted to get this said while her sisterin
law’s attention was diverted。 “And if not—well then；
my advice would be—don’t marry。”
“Oh； but marriage is the happiest life for a woman；”
said Mrs。 Hilbery； catching the word marriage； as she
brought her eyes back to the room again。 Then she turned
her mind to what she had said。
“It’s the most interesting life；” she corrected herself。
She looked at her daughter with a look of vague alarm。 It
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was the kind of maternal scrutiny which suggests that； in
looking at her daughter a mother is really looking at herself。
She was not altogether satisfied； but she purposely
made no attempt to break down the reserve which； as a
matter of fact； was a quality she particularly admired and
depended upon in her daughter。 But when her mother
said that marriage was the most interesting life； Katharine
felt； as she was apt to do suddenly； for no definite reason；
that they understood each other； in spite of differing
in every possible way。 Yet the wisdom of the old seems
to apply more to feelings which we have in mon with
the rest of the human race than to our feelings as individuals；
and Katharine knew that only some one of her
own age could follow her meaning。 Both these elderly
women seemed to her to have been content with so little
happiness； and at the moment she had not sufficient force
to feel certain that their version of marriage was the
wrong one。 In London； certainly； this temperate attitude
toward her own marriage had seemed to her just。 Why
had she now changed？ Why did it now depress her？ It
never occurred to her that her own conduct could be any
thing of a puzzle to her mother； or that elder people are
as much affected by the young as the young are by them。
And yet it was true that love—passion —whatever one
chose to call it； had played far less part in Mrs。 Hilbery’s
life than might have seemed likely； judging from her enthusiastic
and imaginative temperament。 She had always
been more interested by other things。 Lady Otway； strange
though it seemed； guessed more accurately at Katharine’s
state of mind than her mother did。
“Why don’t we all live in the country？” exclaimed Mrs。
Hilbery； once more looking out of the window。 “I’m sure
one would think such beautiful things if one lived in the
country。 No horrid slum houses to depress one； no trams
or motorcars； and the people all looking so plump and
cheerful。 Isn’t there some little cottage near you； Charlotte；
which would do for us； with a spare room； perhaps；
in case we asked a friend down？ And we should save so
much money that we should be able to travel—”
“Yes。 You would find it very nice for a week or two； no
doubt；” said Lady Otway。 “But what hour would you like the
carriage this morning？” she continued； touching the bell。
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“Katharine shall decide；” said Mrs。 Hilbery； feeling herself
unable to prefer one hour to another。 “And I was just
going to tell you； Katharine； how； when I woke this morning；
everything seemed so clear in my head that if I’d
had a pencil I believe I could have written quite a long
chapter。 When we’re out on our drive I shall find us a
house。 A few trees round it； and a little garden； a pond
with a Chinese duck； a study for your father； a study for
me； and a sitting room for Katharine； because then she’ll
be a married lady。”
At this Katharine shivered a little； drew up to the fire；
and warmed her hands by spreading them over the topmost
peak of the coal。 She wished to bring the talk back
to marriage again； in order to hear Aunt Charlotte’s views；
but she did not know how to do this。
“Let me look at your engagementring； Aunt Charlotte；”
she said； noticing her own。
She took the cluster of green stones and turned it round
and round； but she did not know what to say next。
“That poor old ring was a sad disappointment to me
when I first had it；” Lady Otway mused。 “I’d set my heart
on a diamond ring； but I never liked to tell Frank； naturally。
He bought it at Simla。”
Katharine turned the ring round once more； and gave it
back to her aunt without speaking。 And while she turned
it round her lips set themselves firmly together； and it
seemed to her that she could satisfy William as these
women had satisfied their husbands； she could pretend
to like emeralds when she preferred diamonds。 Having
replaced her ring； Lady Otway remarked that it was chilly；
though not more so than one must expect at this time of
year。 Indeed； one ought to be thankful to see the sun at
all； and she advised them both to dress warmly for their
drive。 Her aunt’s stock of monplaces； Katharine sometimes
suspected； had been laid in on purpose to fill silences
with； and had little to do with her private thoughts。
But at this moment they seemed terribly in keeping with
her own conclusions； so that she took up her knitting
again and listened； chiefly with a view to confirming
herself in the belief that to be engaged to marry some
one with whom you are not in love is an inevitable step
in a world where the existence of passion is only a
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traveller’s story brought from the heart of deep forests
and told so rarely that wise people doubt whether the
story can be true。 She did her best to listen to her mother
asking for news of John； and to her aunt replying with
the authentic history of Hilda’s engagement to an officer
in the Indian Army； but she cast her mind alternately
towards forest paths and starry blossoms； and towards
pages of neatly written mathematical signs。 When her
mind took this turn her marriage seemed no more than
an archway through which it was necessary to pass in
order to have her desire。 At such times the current of her
nature ran in its deep narrow channel with great force
and with an alarming lack of consideration for the feelings
of others。 Just as the two elder ladies had finished
their survey of the family prospects； and Lady Otway was
nervously anticipating some general statement as to life
and death from her sisterinlaw； Cassandra burst into
the room with the news that the carriage was at the door。
“Why didn’t Andrews tell me himself？” said Lady Otway；
peevishly； blaming her servants for not living up to her
ideals。
When Mrs。 Hilbery and Katharine arrived in the hall；
ready dressed for their drive； they found that the usual
discussion was going forward as to the plans of the rest
of the family。 In token of this； a great many doors were
opening and shutting； two or three people stood irresolutely
on the stairs； now going a few steps up； and now a
few steps down； and Sir Francis himself had e out
from his study； with the “Times” under his arm； and a
plaint about noise and draughts from the open door
which； at least； had the effect of bundling the people
who did not want to go into the carriage； and sending
those who did not want to stay back to their rooms。 It
was decided that Mrs。 Hilbery； Katharine； Rodney； and
Henry should drive to Lincoln； and any one else who wished
to go should follow on bicycles or in the ponycart。 Every
one who stayed at Stogdon House had to make this expedition
to Lincoln in obedience to Lady Otway’s conception
of the right way to entertain her guests； which she
had imbibed from reading in fashionable papers of the
behavior of Christmas parties in ducal houses。 The carriage
horses were both fat and aged； still they matched；
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the carriage was shaky and unfortable； but the Otway
arms were visible on the panels。 Lady Otway stood on the
topmost step； wrapped in a white shawl； and waved her
hand almost mechanically until they had turned the corner
under the laurelbushes； when she retired indoors
with a sense that she had played her part； and a sigh at
the thought that none of