“I don’t mind; anything,” said Henry, “if only I did it properly. I’d rather be a waiter who didn’t make a fool of himself than what I am. I’d like to be of use. I’d like to make people proud of me. I’d like Katherine—” At that name he suddenly stopped and was silent. “Well?” said Philip. “What about Katherine?... Have some more whisky.... Waiter, coffee.” “I want to do something,” said Henry, “to make Katherine proud of me. I know it must be horrible for her to have a brother whom everyone laughs at. It’s partly because of her that I’m so shy. But she understands me as none of the others do. She knows I’ve got something in me. She believes in me. She’s the only one.... I can talk to her. She understands when I say that I want to do something in the world. _She_ doesn’t laugh. And I’d die for her.... Here, now, if it was necessary. And I’ll tell you one thing. I didn’t like you at first. When you got engaged to Katherine I hated it until I saw that she’d probably have to be engaged to someone, and it might as well be you.” “Thank you,” said Philip, laughing. “I saw how happy you made her. It’s hard on all of us who’ve known her so long, but we don’t mind that ... if you _do_ make her happy.” “So,” said Philip, “it’s only by the family’s permission that I can keep her?” “Oh, you know what I mean,” said Henry. “Of course she’s her own mistress. She can do what she likes. But she _is_ fond of us. And I don’t think—if it came to it—that she’d ever do anything to hurt us.” “If it came to what?” said Philip. But Henry shook his head. “Oh! I’m only talking. I meant that we’re fonder of one another as a family than people outside can realise. We don’t seem to be if you watch us, but if it came to pulling us apart—to—to—taking Katherine away, for instance, it—it wouldn’t be easy.” “Another soda, waiter,” said Philip. “But I don’t want to take Katherine away. I don’t want there to be any difference to anyone.” “There _must_ be a difference,” said Henry, shaking his head and looking very solemn. “If it had been Millie it mightn’t have mattered so much, because she’s been away a lot as it is, but with Katherine—you see, we’ve always thought that whatever misfortune happened, Katherine would be there—and now we can’t think that any longer.” “But that,” said Philip, who’d drunk quite a number of whiskies by this time, “was very selfish of you. You couldn’t expect her never to marry.” “We never thought about it,” said Henry. He spoke now rather confusedly and at random. “We aren’t the sort of people who look ahead. I suppose we haven’t got much imagination as a family. None of the Trenchards have. That’s why we’re fond of one another and can’t imagine ever not being.”