“I’m glad Philip was nice to you,” she said, gazing into the fire. “I want you two to be great friends.” There sprang then a new note into her voice, as though she were resolved to say something that had been in her mind a long time. “Henry—tell me—quite honestly, I want to know. Have I been a pig lately? A pig about everybody. Since I’ve been engaged have I neglected you all and been different to you all and hurt you all?” “No,” said Henry, slowly. “Of course you haven’t ... but it has been different a little—it couldn’t help being.” “What has?” “Well, of course, we don’t mean so much to you now. How can we? I suppose what Philip said last night is true, that we’ve been all rather selfish about you, and now we’re suffering for it.” “Did Philip say that?” “Yes—or something like it.” “It isn’t true. It simply shows that he doesn’t understand what we all are to one another. I suppose we’re different. I’ve been feeling, since I’ve been engaged, that we _must_ be different. Philip is so continually surprised at the things we do.” Henry frowned. “He needn’t be. There’s nothing very wonderful in our all being fond of you.” She got up from the chair and began to walk up and down the room. Henry’s eyes followed her. “I don’t know what it is,” she said suddenly. “But during these last weeks it’s as though you were all hiding something from me. Even you and Millie. Of course I know that Aunt Aggie hates Philip. She never _can_ hide her feelings. But mother ...” Katherine broke out. “Oh! it’s all so silly! Why can’t we all be natural? It’s unfair to Philip. He’s ready for anything, he wants to be one of us, and you, all of you—” “It isn’t quite fair,” said Henry slowly, “to blame only us. We’ve all been very nice to Philip, I think. I know Aunt Betty and Millie and father like him very much.” “And you?” said Katherine. “I don’t think I’d like anyone who was going to take you away.” “But he isn’t going to take me away. That’s where you’re all so wrong. He’s just going to be one more of the family.” Henry said nothing. Katherine then cried passionately: “Ah, you don’t know him! you simply don’t know him!” She stopped, her eyes shining, her whole body stirred by her happiness. She came over and stood close to him: “Henry, whatever happens, _whatever_ happens, nothing can take me away from you and mother and the rest. Nor from Garth.... If you’re _sure_ of that then you needn’t be afraid of Philip.” Henry looked up at her. “Suppose, Katherine—just suppose—that he insisted on your going, leaving us all, leaving Garth, going right away somewhere. What would you do?” Katherine smiled with perfect confidence. “He wouldn’t insist on anything that would make me so unhappy—or anyone unhappy. All he wants is that everyone should like everyone else, and that no one should be hurt.”