So that the position was really complicated instead of being cleared up. And Catherine’s lie was perhaps excusable. That people should fall in love with her was natural enough, but that she should display a similar weakness was extremely undignified, to say the least. And besides, she was not even sure she _had_ been in love with George Trant. Was not there in her an instinct which had said (in effect, if not in so many words): “This is mere sentimental flapdoodle. Wallow as much as you like in its painful ecstasy, but don’t imagine for a moment that it’s the real stuff ...?” § 5 George Trant was a member of the Upton Arts Club. In the room over Burlington’s Music Emporium the Upton Arts Club met on Sunday evenings at 8.30. One Sunday during the discussion following a paper on “Cézanne and the Modernists,” George drawled sleepily from his arm-chair by the fire: “Of course, as a staunch Conservative in politics, I----” A startled hush fell upon the assembly. “Disraelian, I need hardly say,” he added, and the amazement was more profound.... § 6 George Trant was also a member of the Upton Rising Conservative and Unionist Association. The Upton Rising Conservative and Unionist Association existed from 8 a.m. till 12 midnight every day for the purpose of playing billiards, drinking whisky, and reading sporting newspapers. Occasionally its members would talk politics. It was on one of these comparatively rare occasions (the topic was Mr. Lloyd George’s Land Tax) that George announced quietly from behind his evening paper: “Of course, as a convinced Socialist in the matter of landed property, I----” The elderly white-whiskered gentlemen were thrilled. “Not Marxian, I need scarcely add,” resumed George placidly, and the conviction grew that George Trant was a very strange young man. The Disraelian Conservative and un-Marxian Socialist acquired the reputation of being somewhat bewilderingly clever.... The _Bockley Advertiser_ reported in full his secondings of votes of thanks. The Arts Club were proud to hear his exposition of “Ibsen: the Man and the Prophet.” It was in the days when to read Ibsen was to be modern. And the Conservative Club were never more conscious of their brazen Philistinism than when he talked to them easily of Scriabin and Ravel and César Franck. “And of course one must not forget the Spanish School. There is a great tendency to ignore the Spanish School nowadays. But it’s wholly unfair. Such men as ... for instance.” Even in politics he could be mystifyingly erudite. A reference to Jeremy Bentham or Ricardo or Huskisson would floor them absolutely... “Queer chap,” was their verdict. “Must read a lot, I suppose....” And, content with that explanation, they resumed their billiards or their whisky or their _Pink ’Un_.... § 7