'Do not speak of it. I only did for you what you would have done for me. I have been very unlucky; I was cursed with a husband who was a fool, and who lost all his money--no one can say he's in his right mind. They say that I have driven him out of his mind, but that is not so, you know that it is not so; I've not driven you out of your mind. There never was such a fool as my husband. He has acted as stupidly about his daughter as he did about his money. First he takes her away from me--I'm not good enough for her, this house isn't good enough for her; he shuts her up in a convent, and never has her home for fear she should hear or see anything that was not pious and good. Then, when she wants to become a nun, and her mind is made up, and her character is formed, he insists that she shall come home, and that I shall give up my lover and bring her into society. But not into the society that comes to my house, but into some other society, some highly respectable society that neither he nor I knows anything about. And to make my task the more easy, he insists on living in a servant's room, buying the butler's overcoat, and running down the street whistling for cabs, and carrying my trunks on his shoulder. There never was such madness; God knows how it will all end.' She turned her head slightly when her husband entered the room, and, without getting off the arm of Lord Chadwick's chair, said: 'Doesn't he look well in that suit of clothes, Reggie?' The Major was a short man, shorter by nearly two inches than his wife or Lord Chadwick. His hair had once been red; it was now faded, and the tall forehead showed bald amid a slight gleaning. His beard and moustaches were thick, unkempt, and full of grey hair. The nose was small and aquiline, and the eyes, shallow and pale blue, wore a silly and vacant stare. The skin was coloured everywhere alike, a sort of conventional tone of flesh-colour seemed to have been poured over the face, forehead, and neck. His short thick hands were covered with reddish hair. They fidgeted at the trousers and waistcoat, too tightly strained across his little round stomach; and he did not desist till his wife said: 'I hope you will have finished dressing before our guests arrive.' 'Whom have you asked? Not the tall thin man who---' 'Why not?' 'You surely don't think he is a fit companion for Agnes?' 'Companion for Agnes! no; but I don't intend every one that comes here to lunch as a companion for Agnes. I'm sick of hearing of that girl. I've heard of nothing else for the last week--the people she should meet--what we should say and not say before her. If we aren't good enough for her she should have remained in the convent. But what fault, may I ask, do you find with Moulton?' 'Only what you've told me.... Am I not right, Reggie?' 'Oh, Reggie will agree with you--he hates Moulton.' 'I don't like the man.'