"You didn't want to tell me that, did you? You were afraid that I should be hurt. I'm not. I love his loving you. I don't grudge you a thought. He ought to love somebody humanly. I always think that the one incompleteness of Christ was his austerity. That doesn't sound blasphemous or irreverent, does it? But he missed so much experience because he was not a father with a father's feelings. Or a husband with a husband's love. I suppose theological people can explain this satisfactorily. I am taking an unlearned view--" Evie was very nervous, thought Christina, when she saw her the next afternoon. Usually she was self-possession itself. She snapped at the girl when she asked her how she had enjoyed the play, although she was penitent immediately. "Mother has been going on at me for daring to see a play the night poor Ambrose was sentenced," she said. "I'm sure nobody feels more sorry than I do. You're different to mother. I ought to have known that you weren't being sarcastic." "How is Teddy? I remember him when he was a tiny boy. Do you like him, Evie?" Evie pursed her red lips. "He's not bad," she granted. "He's very young and--well, simple." "You worldly old woman!" smiled Christina. "You make me feel a hundred!" Yes, Evie was nervous. And she took an unusual amount of trouble in dressing. "Where are you going tonight--all dolled up?" Evie was pained. "That is an _awfully_ vulgar expression, Chris: it makes me feel like one of those street women. I am going to meet a girl friend." "Where are you going, Evie?" Christina quietly insisted. "I am going to see Ronnie, if you want to know. You make me tell lies when I don't want to," snapped Evie. "Why can't you leave me alone?" Christina sighed. "Why don't I, indeed," she agreed wearily. "What is to be, will be: I can't be responsible for your life, and it is stupid of me to try. Go ahead, Evie, and good luck." A remark which considerably mystified Evie Colebrook. But, as she told herself, she had quite enough to try her without worrying about Christina and her morbid talk. The principal cause of her worry was an exasperating lapse of memory. In the agitation of the proposal, she had forgotten whether Ronnie had asked her to meet him in the park at the usual place, or whether she had agreed to go straight to the flat. An arrangement had been made one way or the other, she was sure. She decided to go to the flat. Beryl came to the same decision. "Steppe and I are going to Ronnie's place tonight," said Dr. Merville. "It will be a sort of--er--board meeting as Jan is leaving London tomorrow. I haven't had a chance of asking him about a matter which affects me personally. You do not read the financial newspapers, do you, Beryl? You haven't heard from the Fennings, or any of the people you know--er--any unpleasant comment?" She shook her head again.