Without hesitation Tora gave her verdict. "If you'd done things that you yourself knew or thought to be disgraceful, you ought to tell him before he grows fond of you. But you're not bound to tell him what you've done, on the chance of his thinking it disgraceful, when you don't." "I expect it's more than a chance," Winnie murmured. "I'm groping after Tora's point. I haven't quite got it. From the Major's point of view, in the hypothetical circumstances we're discussing, what's of importance is not what Winnie thinks, but what he does." "What's important to the Major," Tora replied, "is that he should fall in love with a good woman. Good women may do what the Major thinks disgraceful, but they don't do what they themselves think disgraceful. Or, if they ever do, they repent and confess honestly." "Oh, she's got an argument! She always has. Still, could a good woman let herself be fallen in love with under something like false pretences?" "There will be no false pretences, Stephen. She will be--she practically is--an unmarried woman, and, if she married him, she'd marry him as such. The rest is all over." "It may be atavistic--relics of my public school and so on--but it doesn't seem to me quite the fair thing," Stephen persisted; "to keep him in the dark about our young friend, Miss Wilson, I mean." "I think I agree with you, Stephen." Winnie smiled. "If he does show signs, that's to say!" "Oh, only if he shows signs, of course. Otherwise, it's in no way his business." "Because, whatever his rights may be, why should I risk making him unhappy? Besides, in a certain event, he might find out, when it was--from his point of view--too late." Stephen laughed. "At least admit, Tora, that from a merely practical point of view, there's something to be said for telling people things that they may find out for themselves at an uncomfortably late hour." "Oh, I thought we were trying to get a true view of a man's--or a woman's--rights in such a case," said Tora, with lofty scorn. "But it seems I'm in a minority." "You wouldn't be happy if you weren't, my dear. It's getting dusk, and here comes Dick back. Let's go in to tea." Dick Dennehy often grew hot in argument, but his vexation never lasted long. Over tea he was in great spirits, and talked eagerly about a new prospect which had opened before him. The post he held as correspondent was a poor affair, ill-paid and leading to nothing. He had the chance of being appointed a leader-writer on a London daily paper--a post offering a great advance both in pay and in position. The only possible difficulty arose from his religious convictions; they might, on occasion, clash with the policy of the paper, in matters concerning education for instance. "But they're good enough to say they think so well of me in every other way that the little matter may probably admit of adjustment." "Now don't you go back on your theories--or really where are we?" said Stephen chaffingly.