The worst of it was that he did not pale or start when I caught him: he merely expressed his satisfaction at having been able to correct Rose’s folly in time. He then dried the foreign stamp, handed it gravely to me for future use (“It will need a little gum,” he said) and hastened to the post. If ever a home-wrecker was saturated with innocence it was he. * * * * * I was in hopes that Rose’s formal visit to Eustace’s people might have the effect of implanting some misgivings in her. Such expeditions have had that effect in the past, when the impact of the “people” has been so startling as to cause a complete revision of the affections. But not so in Rose’s case, and she came back still an engaged woman. (By the way, I did not approve of the ring which Eustace had given her: it was not the superlatively beautiful thing that she ought to have had. Rose should have had some great noble stone in an invisible setting—a ruby or an emerald—but Eustace had chosen and sent her a muddle of little pearls and diamonds.) Eustace’s father was a clergyman in Berkshire, a rather querulous man, Rose said, but hospitable and kindly to her. Mrs. Holt was more difficult. “But then,” Rose added, “mothers always must be critical of their future daughters-in-law. No girl can be good enough for their darling sons!” Eustace being the only son, the mother was, of course, additionally hard to please. “How did you leave her?” I asked. “Resigned rather than rapturous,” said Rose. “I did nothing very terrible, but I fancy that she suspects you as a trainer of youth.” “Not so much as I suspect her,” I said, “as a judge of brides.” The whole thing infuriated me. Another cause of vexation at this time was Mrs. O’Gorman. We are annoyed when our old friends like our new friends too much; but we are even more annoyed when our old friends refuse to share our antipathies to new acquaintances. Mrs. O’Gorman disappointed me deeply by not finding Eustace as unsuitable as I did. Perhaps she was only being wilfully provocative, but the effect on me was the same. “A very intelligent old lady,” Eustace called her, to me. Perhaps a little too outspoken, a little lacking in taste. But very refreshing. A character, in fact. No one enjoyed studying a character more than he. And there were so few of them! I have just said that few things are more annoying than an old friend’s approval of a new acquaintance that we dislike. But I think that to hear an old friend patronizingly appraised by an incompetent critic is almost worse. Mrs. O’Gorman was a character: there was no doubt about that; but Eustace had only a glimmering of that fact. My peace of mind was further impaired by Rose’s tendency to play with the joke that I also must marry. It was not a new idea; but hitherto she had been very light with me.