‘Yes, with Cassandra,’ Mr Hilbery agreed urbanely, pleased at the diversion. ‘I think they said they were going to Hampton Court, and I rather believe they were taking a protege of mine, Ralph Denham, a very clever fellow, too, to amuse Cassandra. I thought the arrangement very suitable.’ He was prepared to dwell at some length upon this safe topic, and trusted that Katharine would come in before he had done with it.
‘Hampton Court always seems to me an ideal spot for engaged couples. There’s the Maze, there’s a nice place for having tea—I forget what they call it—and then, if the young man knows his business he contrives to take his lady upon the river. Full of possibilities—full. Cake, Celia?’ Mr Hilbery continued. ‘I respect my dinner too much, but that can’t possibly apply to you. You’ve never observed that feast, so far as I can remember.’
Her brother’s affability did not deceive Mrs Milvain; it slightly saddened her; she well knew the cause of it. Blind and infatuated as usual!
‘Who is this Mr Denham?’ she asked.
‘Ralph Denham?’ said Mr Hilbery, in relief that her mind had taken this turn. ‘A very interesting young man. I’ve a great belief in him. He’s an authority upon our mediaeval institutions, and if he weren’t forced to earn his living he would write a book that very much wants writing.’
‘He is not well off, then?’ Mrs Milvain interposed.
‘Hasn’t a penny, I’m afraid, and a family more or less dependent on him.’
‘A mother and sisters?—his father is dead?’
‘Yes, his father died some years ago,’ said Mr Hilbery, who was prepared to draw upon his imagination, if necessary, to keep Mrs Milvain supplied with facts about the private history of Ralph Denham since, for some inscrutable reason, the subject took her fancy.
‘His father has been dead some time, and this young man had to take his place—’
‘A legal family?’ Mrs Milvain inquired. ‘I fancy I’ve seen the name somewhere.’
Mr Hilbery shook his head. ‘I should be inclined to doubt whether they were altogether in that walk of life,’ he observed. ‘I fancy that Denham once told me that his father was a corn merchant. Perhaps he said a stockbroker. He came to grief, anyhow, as stockbrokers have a way of doing. I’ve a great respect for Denham,’ he added. The remark sounded to his ears unfortunately conclusive, and he was afraid that there was nothing more to be said about Denham. He examined the tips of his fingers carefully. ‘Cassandra’s grown into a very charming young woman,’ he started afresh. ‘Charming to look at, and charming to talk to, though her historical knowledge is not altogether profound. Another cup of tea?’
Mrs Milvain had given her cup a little push, which seemed to indicate some momentary displeasure. But she did not want any more tea.
‘It is Cassandra that I have come about,’ she began. ‘I am very sorry to say that Cassandra is not at all what you think her, Trevor. She has imposed upon your and Maggie’s goodness. She has behaved in a way that would have seemed incredible—in this house of all houses—were it not for other circumstances that are still more incredible.’
Mr Hilbery looked taken aback, and was silent for a second.
‘It all sounds very black,’ he remarked urbanely, continuing his examination of his finger-nails. But I own I am completely in the dark.’
Mrs Milvain became rigid, and emitted her message in little short sentences of extreme intensity.
‘Who has Cassandra gone out with? William Rodney. Who has Katharine gone out with? Ralph Denham. Why are they for ever meeting each other round street corners, and going to music-halls, and taking cabs late at night? Why will Katharine not tell me the truth when I question her? I understand the reason now. Katharine has entangled herself with this unknown lawyer; she has seen fit to condone Cassandra’s conduct.’
There was another slight pause.
‘Ah, well, Katharine will no doubt have some explanation to give me,’ Mr Hilbery replied imperturbably. ‘It’s a little too complicated for me to take in all at once, I confess—and, if you won’t think me rude, Celia, I think I’ll be getting along towards Knightsbridge.’
Mrs Milvain rose at once.
‘She has condoned Cassandra’s conduct and entangled herself with Ralph Denham,’ she repeated. She stood very erect with the dauntless air of one testifying to the truth regardless of consequences. She knew from past discussions that the only way to counter her brother’s indolence and indifference was to shoot her statements at him in a compressed form once finally upon leaving the room. Having spoken thus, she restrained herself from adding another word, and left the house with the dignity of one inspired by a great ideal.
She had certainly framed her remarks in such a way as to prevent her brother from paying his call in the region of Knightsbridge. He had no fears for Katharine, but there was a suspicion at the back of his mind that Cassandra might have been, innocently and ignorantly, led into some foolish situation in one of their unshepherded dissipations. His wife was an erratic judge of the conventions; he himself was lazy; and with Katharine absorbed, very naturally—Here he recalled, as well as he could, the exact nature of the charge. ‘She has condoned Cassandra’s conduct and entangled herself with Ralph Denham.’ From which it appeared that Katharine was not absorbed, or which of them was it that had entangled herself with Ralph Denham? From this maze of absurdity Mr Hilbery saw no way out until Katharine herself came to his help, so that he applied himself, very philosophically on the whole, to a book.
No sooner had he heard the young people come in and go upstairs than he sent a maid to tell Miss Katharine that he wished to speak to her in the study. She was slipping furs loosely on to the floor in the drawing-room in front of the fire. They were all gathered round, reluctant to part. The message from her father surprised Katharine, and the others caught from her look, as she turned to go, a vague sense of apprehension.
Mr Hilbery was reassured by the sight of her. He congratulated himself, he prided himself, upon possessing a daughter who had a sense of responsibility and an understanding of life profound beyond her years. Moreover, she was looking to-day unusual; he had come to take her beauty for granted; now he remembered it and was surprised by it. He thought instinctively that he had interrupted some happy hour of hers with Rodney, and apologized.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, my dear. I heard you come in, and thought I’d better make myself disagreeable at once—as it seems, unfortunately, that fathers are expected to make themselves disagreeable. Now, your Aunt Celia has been to see me; your Aunt Celia has taken it into her head apparently that you and Cassandra have been—let us say a little foolish. This going about together—these pleasant little parties—there’s been some kind of
