Catherine was glad when the advent of chapel time brought the business to a conclusion. For it _was_ business. She could see that. She was being sized up. When she had gone they would discuss her. They were reckoning her up. They were not surprised at her nervousness. They expected it. They were speculating upon her possibilities as a daughter-in-law.... There was only one thing perhaps which did not occur to them, or which, if it did, received less attention than it deserved. Catherine was reckoning _them_ up. She was keenly critical of everything they said and did. And when Mr. Trant, shaking hands with her at the door, said: “You must come again for a musical evening some time, and give us some more Beethoven,” Catherine replied: “Oh yes, I should be delighted. I’m awfully fond of Beethoven, aren’t you?” But she pronounced it “Bait-hoaffen.” There was just the merest possible suggestion of rebuke, of self-assurance, of superiority in that.... § 2 And now all these things were stale by three months. By this time she had got used to having tea on Sundays at the Trants’ house. She was so much at home there that she could say: “Oh, _do_ you mind if I shift this Taj Mahal thing while I play? It rattles so.” After a little while they learned her fancies, and had it always removed when she came. And she was used to George. Everything of him she now knew. His hopes, his dreams, his peculiarities, his vices and virtues, the colours of all his neckties--all had been exhaustively explored during the course of many a hundred hours together. He kissed her now every time they met--he expended much ingenuity in arranging times and places suitable for the ritual. Sometimes, after he had seen her home from the theatre, his kisses were hurried, stereotyped, perfunctory, as purely a matter of routine as putting two pennies into the machine and drawing out a tube ticket. On other occasions, as for instance when they strolled through country lanes at dusk, she could sense the imminence of his kisses long before they came. When they turned down Cubitt Lane towards the Forest at twilight it was tacitly comprehended between them: “We are going in here to be sentimental....” When they returned the mutual understanding was: “We have been sentimental. That ought to last us for some time....” People deliberately left them alone together. They looked at the two of them as if they were or ought to be bliss personified. They seemed to assume that an engaged couple desires every available moment for love-making. At meal times, for example, it was always contrived that George should be next to Catherine. Once when Mr. and Mrs. Trant had made the excuse that they would stroll round the garden, Catherine, noticing that Helen was about to follow unobtrusively, said sharply: “Please don’t go, Helen. I want you to try over a few songs.” Catherine wondered if Helen understood.