As soon as she reached the house she went to her mother’s rooms. Mrs. Hollister was finishing her morning’s work with her secretary. Catherine waited, impatiently playing with her riding whip. When the secretary left she said: “Mother, I’m going to throw him over.” Mrs. Hollister paused for an instant in putting away some of her especially private papers, then went on. Presently she said tranquilly: “You will do nothing of the sort.” Catherine quailed before that tone--she had been ruled by her mother all her life, had never been interfered with in any matter which her mother regarded as unimportant, had never been permitted to decide any matter which her mother regarded as important. And her mother’s rule was the most formidable of all tyrannies--the tyranny of kindness. “But, mother, I should be wretched with him.” “Why?” On the basis of their method of thought and speech each with the other, it was impossible for her to erect “Because I don’t love him” into a plausible objection. So she said: “We have nothing in common. His laziness and cynicism irritate me. He makes me nervous. He bores me.” “All men are objectionable in one way or another,” replied her mother. “If you married the ordinary man you would have nothing after you had grown tired. But marrying him, you’ll have, first, last, and all the time, the solid advantages of your position and your title. And you’ll like him better when you’re used to him--he has admirable qualities for a husband.” “I can’t marry him,” said Catherine doggedly. She knew it was useless to argue with her mother. “You can’t refuse to marry him. It would be dishonourable. Your word is pledged. It would be impossible for a child of mine to be guilty of a dishonourable action.” “When I tell him how I feel he will release me.” “You mean he would refuse to marry a woman who, after treating a man as you have treated him, would show herself so light and so lacking in honour. No, my daughter will not disgrace herself and her family.” Mrs. Hollister seated herself beside Catherine and put an arm round her. “She has had her every whim gratified, and that has made her careless of responsibilities. But she will not show herself in serious matters light and untrustworthy.” Catherine stiffened herself against the gentle yet masterful force that seemed to be stealing in upon her from her mother’s embrace and tone. “You’ve come to one of those rough places in life,” Mrs. Hollister went on, “where young people need the help of some older, more experienced person. And some day soon you’ll be glad I was here to see you safely over it.” “I can’t marry him, mother.”