to an end suddenly—gave out—faded—an illusion—as if when we think we’re in love we make it up—we imagine what doesn’t exist. That’s why it’s impossible that we should ever marry. Always to be finding the other an illusion, and going off and forgetting about them, never to be certain that you cared, or that he wasn’t caring for some one not you at all, the horror of changing from one state to the other, being happy one moment and miserable the next—that’s the reason why we can’t possibly marry. At the same time,” she continued, “we can’t live without each other, because———” Mrs. Hilbery waited patiently for the sentence to be completed, but Katharine fell silent and fingered her sheet of figures.
“We have to have faith in our vision,” Mrs. Hilbery resumed, glancing at the figures, which distressed her vaguely, and had some connexion in her mind with the household accounts, “otherwise, as you say———” She cast a lightning glance into the depths of disillusionment which were, perhaps, not altogether unknown to her.
“Believe me, Katharine, it’s the same for every one—for me, too—for your father,” she said earnestly, and sighed. They looked together into the abyss and, as the elder of the two, she recovered herself first and asked:
“But where is Ralph? Why isn’t he here to see me?”
Katharine’s expression changed instantly.
“Because he’s not allowed to come here,” she replied bitterly.
Mrs. Hilbery brushed this aside.
“Would there be time to send for him before luncheon?” she asked.
Katharine looked at her as if, indeed, she were some magician. Once more she felt that instead of being a grown woman, used to advise and command, she was only a foot or two raised above the long grass and the little
