"It's too dreadful! Marjorie," she said, "I want to ask you to do something. After all, a mother has _some_ claim. Will you wait just a little. Will you promise me to do nothing--nothing, I mean, to commit you--until your father has been able to make inquiries. Don't _see_ him for a little while. Very soon you'll be one-and-twenty, and then perhaps things may be different. If he cares for you, and you for him, a little separation won't matter.... Until your father has inquired...." "Mother," said Marjorie, "I can't----" Mrs. Pope drew in the air sharply between her teeth, as if in agony. "But, mother----Mother, I _must_ let Mr. Trafford know that I'm not to see him. I _can't_ suddenly cease.... If I could see him once----" "Don't!" said Mrs. Pope, in a hollow voice. Marjorie began weeping. "He'd not understand," she said. "If I might just speak to him!" "Not alone, Marjorie." Marjorie stood still. "Well--before you." Mrs. Pope conceded the point. "And then, Marjorie----" she said. "I'd keep my word, mother," said Marjorie, and began to sob in a manner she felt to be absurdly childish--"until--until I am one-and-twenty. I'd promise that." Mrs. Pope did a brief calculation. "Marjorie," she said, "it's only your happiness I think of." "I know," said Marjorie, and added in a low voice, "and father." "My dear, you don't understand your father.... I believe--I do firmly believe--if anything happened to any of you girls--anything bad--he would kill himself.... And I know he means that you aren't to go about so much as you used to do, unless we have the most definite promises. Of course, your father's ideas aren't always my ideas, Marjorie; but it's your duty--You know how hasty he is and--quick. Just as you know how good and generous and kind he is"--she caught Marjorie's eye, and added a little lamely--"at bottom." ... She thought. "I think I could get him to let you say just one word with Mr. Trafford. It would be very difficult, but----" She paused for a few seconds, and seemed to be thinking deeply. "Marjorie," she said, "Mr. Magnet must never know anything of this." "But, mother----!" "Nothing!" "I can't go on with my engagement!" Mrs. Pope shook her head inscrutably. "But how _can_ I, mother?" "You need not tell him _why_, Marjorie." "But----" "Just think how it would humiliate and distress him! You _can't_, Marjorie. You must find some excuse--oh, any excuse! But not the truth--not the truth, Marjorie. It would be too dreadful." Marjorie thought. "Look here, mother, I _may_ see Mr. Trafford again? I _may_ really speak to him?" "Haven't I promised?" "Then, I'll do as you say," said Marjorie. § 5 Mrs. Pope found her husband seated at the desk in the ultra-Protestant study, meditating gloomily. "I've been talking to her," she said, "She's in a state of terrible distress." "She ought to be," said Mr. Pope. "Philip, you don't understand Marjorie." "I don't." "You think she was kissing that man." "Well, she was."