‘Everything with the only sort of love I shall ever know--family love, and the affection of my child, and later on I hope of her children.’ ‘Oh Catherine, don’t talk such stuff to me--such copy-book, renunciated stuff!’ he exclaimed, coming nearer. ‘You see,’ she said, ‘how much older I am than you, whatever you may choose to pretend. Why, we don’t even talk the same language. When I talk what I’m sure is sense you call it copy-book stuff. And when you talk what I know is nonsense, you’re positive it is most right and proper.’ ‘So it is, because it’s natural. Yours is all convention and other people’s ideas, and what you’ve been told and not what you’ve thought for yourself, and nothing to do with a simple following of your natural instincts.’ ‘My natural instincts!’ She was horrified at his supposing she had such things. At her age. The mother of Virginia. ‘Well, are you going to dare tell me you haven’t been happy with me, you haven’t liked going out with me?’ ‘Yes. I did. It was queer--I oughtn’t to have.’ ‘It was natural, that’s why. You were being natural then, and not thinking. It’s natural you should be loved----’ ‘But not by you,’ she said quickly. ‘That’s most unnatural. The generations have to keep together. You would have to be twenty years older before it could even begin to be decent.’ ‘Love isn’t decent. Love is glorious and shameless.’ She put up her hand again, warding off his words. ‘Christopher, good-bye,’ she said very firmly. ‘I can’t listen to any more foolish things. As long as you didn’t know about Virginia I could forgive them, but now that you know I simply can’t bear them. You make me ridiculous. I’m sorry. I ought to have told you at the beginning, but I couldn’t believe you wouldn’t see for yourself----’ ‘What is there to see except that you are what I have always dreamed of?’ ‘Oh--<i>please</i>. Good-bye. I’m really very sorry. But you’ll laugh over this in a year’s time--perhaps we’ll laugh over it together.’ ‘Yes--when you’re my wife, and I remind you of how you tormented me.’ Her answer to that was to go towards the fireplace to ring the bell for Mrs. Mitcham to show him out. There was nothing to be done with Christopher. He was mad. But he got to the fireplace first. ‘No,’ he said, standing in front of the bell. ‘Please. Listen to me. One moment more. I can’t go away like this. Please, Catherine--my darling, my darling--don’t send love away----’ ‘Mr. Colquhoun, m’m,’ said Mrs. Mitcham opening the door; and in walked Stephen. ‘Why, Stephen,’ cried Catherine, almost running to him, so very glad was she to see him, so much gladder than she had yet been in her life, ‘I <i>am</i> pleased!’ ‘I was here earlier in the evening,’ began Stephen--and paused on catching sight of the flaming young man in the corner by the fireplace. ‘Oh, yes--this is Mr. Monckton,’ said Catherine hastily. And to Christopher she said, ‘This is Mr. Colquhoun----’ Adding, with extreme clearness, ‘My son-in-law.’ IX