‘Don’t you think a wife might hurt herself now and then against the rough edges of the iron? Those unselfish men are apt to demand a good deal of self-sacrifice from others.’ ‘And you think Lina was made to sit in a drawing-room all her life, among hot-house flowers. Well, I believe she will be very happy at Goring Abbey. She likes a quiet domestic life, and to live among the people she loves. And Mr. Goring’s selfishness will hardly trouble her. She has had such splendid training with papa.’ ‘Daphne, do you think it is quite right to speak of your father in that way?’ asked Edgar reproachfully. He was wounded by her flippant tone, hurt by every evidence of faultiness in one whom he hoped the future would develop into perfect woman and perfect wife. ‘Would you like me to be a hypocrite?’ ‘No, Daphne. But if you can’t speak of Sir Vernon as he ought to be spoken of, don’t you think it would be better to say nothing at all?’ ‘For the future I shall be dumb, in deference to Mr. Turchill—and the proprieties. But it was nice to have one friend in the world with whom I could be thoroughly confidential,’ she added coaxingly. ‘Pray be confidential with me.’ ‘I can’t, if you once begin to lecture. I have a horror of people who talk to me for my own good. That is Aunt Rhoda’s line. She is never tired of preaching to me for my good, and I never feel so utterly bad as I do after one of her preachments. And now I really must say good-night. Don’t forget that you are engaged to dine at the Rectory to-morrow.’ ‘Are not you and Lina going?’ ‘Yes, and Mr. Goring. It is to be a regular family gathering. Papa is asked, but I cherish a faint hope that he may not feel in the humour for going. I beg your pardon,’ exclaimed Daphne, making him a ceremonious curtsy. ‘My honoured parent has been invited, and wherever he is his children must be happy. Is that the kind of thing you like?’ she asked tripping away to the little half-glass door at the other end of the terrace. Edgar ran after her to open the door for her; but she was fleet as Atalanta, and there was nobody to distract her with golden apples. She shut the door and drew the bolt, just as Edgar reached it, and nodded a smiling good-night to him through the glass. He stopped to see the white frock vanish from the lamp-lit lobby, and then turned away to light a cigarette and take a solitary turn on the terrace before going back to the drawing-room to make his adieux.