a particular corner in the cathedral for their love-making."
"How nice!" she cried, impulsively.
They misunderstood each other.
"It had its disadvantages though. The verger made a row about it."
"What a shame! Why shouldn't they sit in a cathedral?"
"I suppose they all think it a profanity—except you and Ingram and the girl."
"I don't think it a profanity—I think it's right, to make love in a cathedral."
She said this almost defiantly, in despite of her own soul.
He was silent.
"And was she nice?"
"Who? Emily? Yes, she was rather nice. She was a milliner, and she wouldn't be seen in the streets with Ingram. It was rather sad, really, because the verger spied on them, and got to know their names and then made a regular row. It was a common tale afterwards."
"What did she do?"
"She went to London, into a big shop. Ingram still goes up to see her."
"Does he love her?"
"It's a year and a half he's been with her now."
"What was she like?"
"Emily? Little, shy-violet sort of girl with nice eyebrows."
Ursula meditated this. It seemed like real romance of the outer world.
"Do all men have lovers?" she asked, amazed at her own temerity. But her hand was still fastened with his, and his face still had the same unchanging fixity of outward calm.
"They're always mentioning some amazing fine woman or other, and getting drunk to talk about her. Most of them dash up to London the moment they are free."
"What for?"
"To some amazing fine woman or other."
"What sort of woman?"
"Various. Her name changes pretty frequently, as a rule. One of the fellows is a perfect maniac. He keeps a suit-case always ready, and the instant he is at liberty, he bolts with it to the station, and changes in the train. No matter who is in the carriage, off he whips his tunic, and performs at least the top half of his toilet."
