“It doesn’t matter whether you mean it or not: the effect is the same. By bringing your indecent suspicions here you are hoping to make it impossible for me any more to be natural with this girl.” “No, no!” “Yes, yes,” I replied. “Excuse me if I speak with plainness, but I feel strongly about it. It is abominable. Don’t you believe that decent living and pure affection are possible in this world?” “I am sure they are, but I am troubled about my niece’s—my brother’s only child’s—good name.” I thanked her sarcastically for the compliment. I was conscious that I was being rude, but I could not control myself. There are some persons who always draw out our inferior qualities, just as the companionship of others can increase the value of our character by fifty per cent. Mrs. Stratton invariably evoked my worst side. Any fine edge that I possessed was blunted when we were together. “It is what people may think and say that is so disturbing to me,” she explained. “You know how they talk.” “I am learning,” I said. “But anyone over thirty-five should have acquired an indifference to public opinion.” “That is a counsel of perfection,” she replied. “In ordinary life we are all governed by it, or at any rate we are largely influenced. It would be heart-breaking to me if I thought that people were saying horrid things about Rose and you. Mind, I don’t say that they are talking already,” she conceded. “But they’ll begin very soon.” “How soon?” I asked. “I can’t say with any definiteness. How could I?” “Well,” I said, “I want to know. It is your business to tell me. Rose comes back on Wednesday. Will they begin on Thursday?” “But you’re being absurd.” “Not at all,” I said. “I want to know. I must arrange things. Will they begin on Friday? Remember—a girl of eighteen!—eighteen is just the age for these people to gloat over: eighteen and forty-five, what a titbit for you all!” “Please don’t mix me up in this,” said Mrs. Stratton indignantly. “I beg your pardon,” I said. “What a titbit for every one else! But, anyhow, remember that this girl of eighteen will have been alone in her guardian’s house two whole days by Friday, with nothing but the maids and whatever good character he may have built up for himself to protect her. May I safely take no steps till Friday?” Mrs. Stratton was becoming very cross. “You’re being ridiculous,” she snapped. “Not at all,” I said. “Logical merely. Very well then,” I went on. “If we may have two days, why not three? And if three days and there is no public clamour, and the windows are not broken by the Association for Getting Morality into Others or the Society for Suspecting Every One Else, perhaps we could have a week of innocent companionship, Rose and I? I have not unnaturally been looking forward to it. And if one week, why not two? Surely you must see that I am entitled to know this?”