misunderstanding. I told her I saw no harm in it, but I should just like to hear from yourself. Has Cassandra been left a little too much in the company of Mr Denham?’
Katharine did not reply at once, and Mr Hilbery tapped the coal encouragingly with the poker. Then she said, without embarrassment or apology:
‘I don’t see why I should answer Aunt Celia’s questions. I’ve told her already that I won’t.’
Mr Hilbery was relieved and secretly amused at the thought of the interview, although he could not license such irreverence outwardly.
‘Very good. Then you authorize me to tell her that she’s been mistaken, and there was nothing but a little fun in it? You’ve no doubt, Katharine, in your own mind? Cassandra is in our charge, and I don’t intend that people should gossip about her. I suggest that you should be a little more careful in future. Invite me to your next entertainment.’
She did not respond, as he had hoped, with any affectionate or humorous reply. She meditated, pondering something or other, and he reflected that even his Katharine did not differ from other women in the capacity to let things be. Or had she something to say?
‘Have you a guilty conscience?’ he inquired lightly. ‘Tell me, Katharine,’ he said more seriously, struck by something in the expression of her eyes.
‘I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to marry William.’
‘You’re not going—!’ he exclaimed, dropping the poker in his immense surprise. ‘Why? When? Explain yourself, Katharine.’
‘Oh, some time ago—a week, perhaps more.’ Katharine spoke hurriedly and indifferently, as if the matter could no longer concern any one.
‘But may I ask—why have I not been told of this—what do you mean by it?’
‘We don’t wish to be married—that’s all.’
‘This is William’s wish as well as yours?’
‘Oh yes. We agree perfectly.’
Mr Hilbery had seldom felt more completely at a loss. He thought that Katharine was treating the matter with curious unconcern; she scarcely seemed aware of the gravity of what she was saying; he did not understand the position at all. But his desire to smooth everything over comfortably came to his relief. No doubt there was some quarrel, some whimsey on the part of William, who, though a good fellow, was a little exacting sometimes— something that a woman could put right. But though he inclined to take the easiest view of his responsibilities, he cared too much for his daughter to let things be.
‘I confess I find great difficulty in following you. I should like to hear William’s side of the story,’ he said irritably. ‘I think he ought to have spoken to me in the first instance.’
‘I wouldn’t let him,’ said Katharine. ‘I know it must seem to you very strange,’ she added. ‘But I assure you, if you’d wait a little—until mother comes back.’
This appeal for delay was much to Mr Hilbery’s liking. But his conscience would not suffer it. People were talking. He could not endure that his daughter’s conduct should be in any way considered irregular. He wondered whether, in the circumstances, it would be better to wire to his wife, to send for one of his sisters, to forbid William the house, to pack Cassandra off home—for he was vaguely conscious of responsibilities in her direction too. His forehead was becoming more and more wrinkled by the multiplicity of his anxieties, which he was sorely tempted to ask Katharine to solve for him, when the door opened and William Rodney appeared. This necessitated a complete change, not only of manner, but of position also.
‘Here’s William,’ Katharine exclaimed, in a tone of relief. ‘I’ve told father we’re not engaged,’ she said to him. ‘I’ve explained that I prevented you from telling him.’
William’s manner was marked by the utmost formality. He bowed very slightly in the direction of Mr Hilbery, and stood erect, holding one lapel of his coat, and gazing into the centre of the fire. He waited for Mr Hilbery to speak.
Mr Hilbery also assumed an appearance of formidable dignity. He had risen to his feet, and now bent the top part of his body slightly forward.
‘I should like your account of this affair, Rodney—if Katharine no longer prevents you from speaking.’
William waited two seconds at least.
‘Our engagement is at an end,’ he said, with the utmost stiffness.
‘Has this been arrived at by your joint desire?’
After a perceptible pause William bent his head, and Katharine said, as if by an afterthought:
‘Oh yes.’
Mr Hilbery swayed to and fro, and moved his lips as if to utter remarks which remained unspoken.
‘I can only suggest that you should postpone any decision until the effect of this misunderstanding has had time to wear off. You have now known each other—’ he began.
‘There’s been no misunderstanding,’ Katharine interposed. ‘Nothing at all.’ She moved a few paces across the room, as if she intended to leave them. Her preoccupied naturalness was in strange contrast to her father’s pomposity and to William’s military rigidity. He had not once raised his eyes. Katharine’s glance, on the other hand, ranged past the two gentlemen, along the books, over the tables, towards the door. She was paying the least possible attention, it seemed, to what was happening. Her father looked at her with a sudden clouding and troubling of his expression. Somehow his faith in her stability and sense was queerly shaken. He no longer felt that he could ultimately entrust her with the whole conduct of her own affairs after a superficial show of directing them. He felt, for the first time in many years, responsible for her.
‘Look here, we must get to the bottom of this,’ he said, dropping his formal manner and addressing Rodney as if Katharine were not present. ‘You’ve had some difference of opinion, eh? Take my word for it, most people go through this sort of thing when they’re engaged. I’ve seen more trouble come from long engagements than from
