old days； when Mamma lived there；” Mrs。 Hilbery mused；
“and I can’t fancy turning one of those noble great rooms
into a stuffy little Suffrage office。 Still； if the clerks read
poetry there must be something nice about them。”
“No； because they don’t read it as we read it；” Katharine
insisted。
“But it’s nice to think of them reading your grandfather；
and not filling up those dreadful little forms all day
long；” Mrs。 Hilbery persisted； her notion of office life
being derived from some chance view of a scene behind
the counter at her bank； as she slipped the sovereigns
into her purse。
“At any rate； they haven’t made a convert of Katharine；
which was what I was afraid of；” Mr。 Hilbery remarked。
“Oh no；” said Katharine very decidedly； “I wouldn’t work
with them for anything。”
“It’s curious；” Mr。 Hilbery continued； agreeing with his
daughter； “how the sight of one’s fellowenthusiasts always
chokes one off。 They show up the faults of one’s
cause so much more plainly than one’s antagonists。 One
can be enthusiastic in one’s study； but directly one es
into touch with the people who agree with one； all the
glamor goes。 So I’ve always found；” and he proceeded to
tell them； as he peeled his apple； how he mitted him
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self once； in his youthful days； to make a speech at a
political meeting； and went there ablaze with enthusiasm
for the ideals of his own side； but while his leaders spoke；
he became gradually converted to the other way of thinking；
if thinking it could be called； and had to feign illness
in order to avoid making a fool of himself—an experience
which had sickened him of public meetings。
Katharine listened and felt as she generally did when
her father； and to some extent her mother； described their
feelings； that she quite understood and agreed with them；
but； at the same time； saw something which they did not
see； and always felt some disappointment when they fell
short of her vision； as they always did。 The plates succeeded
each other swiftly and noiselessly in front of her；
and the table was decked for dessert； and as the talk
murmured on in familiar grooves； she sat there； rather
like a judge； listening to her parents； who did； indeed；
feel it very pleasant when they made her laugh。
Daily life in a house where there are young and old is
full of curious little ceremonies and pieties； which are
discharged quite punctually； though the meaning of them
is obscure； and a mystery has e to brood over them
which lends even a superstitious charm to their performance。
Such was the nightly ceremony of the cigar and
the glass of port； which were placed on the right hand
and on the left hand of Mr。 Hilbery； and simultaneously
Mrs。 Hilbery and Katharine left the room。 All the years
they had lived together they had never seen Mr。 Hilbery
smoke his cigar or drink his port； and they would have
felt it unseemly if； by chance； they had surprised him as
he sat there。 These short； but clearly marked； periods of
separation between the sexes were always used for an
intimate postscript to what had been said at dinner； the
sense of being women together ing out most strongly
when the male sex was； as if by some religious rite； secluded
from the female。 Katharine knew by heart the sort
of mood that possessed her as she walked upstairs to the
drawingroom； her mother’s arm in hers； and she could
anticipate the pleasure with which； when she had turned
on the lights； they both regarded the drawingroom； fresh
swept and set in order for the last section of the day；
with the red parrots swinging on the chintz curtains； and
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the armchairs warming in the blaze。 Mrs。 Hilbery stood
over the fire； with one foot on the fender； and her skirts
slightly raised。
“Oh； Katharine；” she exclaimed； “how you’ve made me
think of Mamma and the old days in Russell Square！ I can
see the chandeliers； and the green silk of the piano； and
Mamma sitting in her cashmere shawl by the window；
singing till the little ragamuffin boys outside stopped to
listen。 Papa sent me in with a bunch of violets while he
waited round the corner。 It must have been a summer
evening。 That was before things were hopeless… 。”
As she spoke an expression of regret； which must have
e frequently to cause the lines which now grew deep
round the lips and eyes； settled on her face。 The poet’s
marriage had not been a happy one。 He had left his wife；
and after some years of a rather reckless existence； she
had died； before her time。 This disaster had led to great
irregularities of education； and； indeed； Mrs。 Hilbery might
be said to have escaped education altogether。 But she
had been her father’s panion at the season when he
wrote the finest of his poems。 She had sat on his knee in
taverns and other haunts of drunken poets； and it was for
her sake； so people said； that he had cured himself of his
dissipation； and bee the irreproachable literary character
that the world knows； whose inspiration had deserted
him。 As Mrs。 Hilbery grew old she thought more
and more of the past； and this ancient disaster seemed at
times almost to prey upon her mind； as if she could not
pass out of life herself without laying the ghost of her
parent’s sorrow to rest。
Katharine wished to fort her mother； but it was difficult
to do this satisfactorily when the facts themselves
were so much of a legend。 The house in Russell Square；
for example； with its noble rooms； and the magnoliatree
in the garden； and the sweetvoiced piano； and the sound
of feet ing down the corridors； and other properties
of size and romance—had they any existence？ Yet why
should Mrs。 Alardyce live all alone in this gigantic mansion；
and； if she did not live alone； with whom did she
live？ For its own sake； Katharine rather liked this tragic
story； and would have been glad to hear the details of it；
and to have been able to discuss them frankly。 But this it
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became less and less possible to do； for though Mrs。
Hilbery was constantly reverting to the story； it was always
in this tentative and restless fashion； as though by
a touch here and there she could set things straight which
had been crooked these sixty years。 Perhaps； indeed； she
no longer knew what the truth was。
“If they’d lived now；” she concluded； “I feel it wouldn’t
have happened。 People aren’t so set upon tragedy as they
were then。 If my father had been able to go round the
world； or if she’d had a rest cure； everything would have
e right。 But what could I do？ And then they had bad
friends； both of them； who made mischief。 Ah； Katharine；
when you marry； be quite； quite sure that you love your
husband！”
The tears stood in Mrs。 Hilbery’s eyes。
While forting her； Katharine thought to herself； “Now
this is what Mary Datchet and Mr。 Denham don’t understand。
This is the sort of position I’m always getting into。
How simple it must be to live as they do！” for all the
evening she had been paring her home and her father
and mother with the Suffrage office and the people there。
“But； Katharine；” Mrs。 Hilbery continued； with one of
her sudden changes of mood； “though； Heaven knows； I
don’t want to see you married； surely if ever a man loved
a woman； William loves you。 And it’s a nice； richsounding
name too—Katharine Rodney； which； unfortunately；
doesn’t mean that he’s got any money； because he hasn’t。”
The alteration of her name annoyed Katharine； and she
observed； rather sharply； that she didn’t want to marry
any one。
“It’s very dull that you can only marry one husband；
certainly；” Mrs。 Hilbery reflected。 “I always wish that you
could marry everybody who wants to marry you。 Perhaps
they’ll e to that in time； but meanwhile I confess
that dear William—” But here Mr。 Hilbery came in； and
the more solid part of the evening began。 This consisted
in the reading aloud by Katharine from some prose work
or other； while her mother knitted scarves intermittently
on a little circular frame； and her father read the newspaper；
not so attentively but that he could ment humorously
now and again upon the fortunes of the hero
and the heroine。 The Hilberys subscribed to a library； which
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delivered books on Tuesdays and Fridays； and Katharine
did her best to interest her parents in the works of living
and highly respectable authors； but Mrs。 Hilbery was perturbed
by the very look of the light； goldwreathed volumes；
and would make little faces as if she tasted something
bitter as the reading went on； while Mr。 Hilbery
would treat the moderns with a curious elaborate banter
such as one might apply to the antics of a promising
child。 So this evening； after five pages or so of one of
these masters； Mrs。 Hilbery protested that it was all too
clever and cheap and nasty for words。
“Please； Katharine； read us something real。”
Katharine had to go to the bookcase and choose a portly
volume in sleek； y