“I don’t think I should get on in that society,” he replied. “I don’t think I should know what to say to Lady Rose if I met her.”
“I don’t find any difficulty,” Rodney chuckled. “You talk to them about their children, if they have any, or their accomplishments—painting, gardening, poetry—they’re so delightfully sympathetic. Seriously, you know I think a woman’s opinion of one’s poetry is always worth having. Don’t ask them for their reasons. Just ask them for their feelings. Katharine, for example———”
“Katharine,” said Henry, with an emphasis upon the name, almost as if he resented Rodney’s use of it, “Katharine is very unlike most women.”
“Quite,” Rodney agreed. “She is—’ He seemed about to describe her, and he hesitated for a long time. “She’s looking very well,” he stated, or rather almost inquired, in a different tone from that in which he had been speaking. Henry bent his head.
“But, as a family, you’re given to moods, eh?”
“Not Katharine,” said Henry, with decision.
“Not Katharine,” Rodney repeated, as if he weighed the meaning of the words. “No, perhaps you're right. But her engagement has changed her. Naturally,” he added, “one would expect that to be so.” He waited for Henry to confirm this statement, but Henry remained silent.
“Katharine has had a difficult life, in some ways,” he continued. “I expect that marriage will be good for her. She has great powers.”
“Great,” said Henry, with decision.
“Yes—but now what direction d’you think they take?”
Rodney had completely dropped his pose as a man of the world and seemed to be asking Henry to help him in a difficulty.
“I don’t know,” Henry hesitated cautiously.
