"He shall stalk you no longer," she said. "Really, Maud, you are behaving very unfairly to him. If you are going to marry him, say so; if not--well, if not, you will be a very foolish person, but still say so. He has a mother, I know that, but really his mother matters very much less than the man himself. He's all right, isn't he? Behaves nicely--I mean, hasn't a vice about him--looks decent?" "Moderately," said Maud. "Oh, my dear, what do you want? Every one can't be an Adonis, and, as the copybooks used to say, human nature is limited. I dare say he's not a genius; well, no more are you. As for beauty, you've got enough for two, and he's got money enough for three--baby, as well, do you see? Oh yes, I am indelicate, I know, but it's far better than being delicate. Being delicate never pays; on the other hand, you have to pay for it, and I haven't got enough money for it. You are lucky, Maud." "Why? I want to talk to you about it." "My dear girl, there is nothing to say. You will be a fool if you don't marry him, as I told you. There is simply nothing else to talk about. I was in a state of blank indifference about Arthur before I married him. My mother--and I bless her for it--absolutely obliged me to accept him. So will yours do if she has any sense, and I am certain she has heaps. Unless you are a visionary or a fanatic of some kind, you will be glad to be married. Glad? Good gracious! it is much more than that." She turned sharply on her heel, Maud following. "Then, why are there so many unhappy marriages?" asked the latter. "Ah, in books, only. They are there because the author does not know what else to say. 'You can't write about happy marriages,' so an author assured me. 'They are so dull. Happy people have no history.'" Maud was silent a moment. "You have changed very much, Kitty," she said at length. "Thank goodness, I have! Oh, Maud, I don't mean to be nasty to you. Those old days were really dear days. But one can't always remain a girl, Maud. It is mercifully ordained that girls become women. And the door by which they enter is marriage." "It means all that?" "All. More----" Maud found herself struggling for utterance. The blush and the downcast eye which she had thought Anthony could never have produced in her were hers now. "You mean a man--the fact of a man?" she said stammeringly. Kitty laughed the laugh of a newly-married woman, which is as old as Eve. "Put it that way if you like," she said. "But there is another--the fact of a woman." "But I am content," she said almost piteously. "Why does everybody--you, mother--want me to marry?" "You have left out Anthony," remarked Kitty rigorously. "I and your mother, because we are women; he, because he is a man." They had come to the populated lawn again, and further intimate conversation would next moment be impossible. Kitty turned to her hurriedly.