“Phil. I do understand better than you think. But do you know what it would mean if we were to run away now like this? My mother would never forgive me. It would mean that I was throwing off everything—the place, mother, all my life.... Of course I would throw it away for you if that were the only course to take. But it isn’t the only course. You see life exaggerated, Phil. Everything that happened yesterday has irritated you. To-morrow—” “To-morrow may be too late,” he answered her. “At least give my idea half an hour, I’ll go off now for a walk by myself. In half an hour’s time I’ll be back. Do your best for me.” She looked at him, bent forward and kissed him. “Yes, go—Come back in half an hour.” She watched him climb the rocks, wind up the path, turn at the bend and look back to her, then disappear. She sat down on the beach, rested her elbows on her knees and looked out to sea. She was utterly alone: the pool, now spun gold, beneath a sun that was slowly sinking to bars of saffron, quivered only with the reaction of the retreating tide; the rocks were black and sharp against the evening sky. Katherine, as she sat there, had, at first, a desperate wish for the help of some older person’s advice. It was not that she could, for an instant, seriously contemplate this mad proposal of Philip’s—and yet he had imparted to her some of his own fear and distrust of the possible machinations of heaven. What he had said was true—that ever since he had told her about Anna it had been as though they had taken some third person into their lives—taken her unwillingly, almost unconsciously, but nevertheless destructively. Then also, although Katherine had denied it, she knew now that what he had said about the family was true. She not only could not hope now that they and Philip would ever live happily together—it was also the fact that they had changed. Her mother had changed—her Aunts, her father, Millie, Henry—they had all changed—changed to her and changed to themselves. Katherine, moreover, now for the first time in her life criticised her family—even her mother. She felt as though she and Philip had needed help, and that the family, instead of giving it, had made difficulties and trouble. Her mother had, deliberately, made trouble—had been hard and unkind to Philip, had brought him to Garth that he might seem to Katherine unsuited there, had put him into impossible positions and then laughed at him. Her mother had come to her and asked her to give Philip up; in retrospect that scene of yesterday afternoon seemed a deliberate challenge—but a challenge offered behind Philip’s back.