“You knew, Katherine? You knew—all these disgraceful—these—” Her voice broke. “You knew and you continued your engagement?” “Certainly,” answered Katherine quietly. “Whatever life Philip led before he knew me, was no business of mine. It was good of him to tell me as he did, but it was not my affair. And really, Aunt Aggie,” she continued, “that you could think it right to speak like this before us all—to interfere—” Her voice was cold with anger. They had none of them ever before known this Katherine. Aunt Aggie appealed to her sister-in-law. “Harriet, if I’ve been wrong in mentioning this now, I’m sorry. Katherine seems to have lost her senses. I would not wish to condemn anyone, but to sit still and watch whilst my niece, whom I have loved, is given to a profligate—” Katherine stood, with the sunlight behind her; she looked at her aunt, then moved across the room to Philip and put her hand on his shoulder. They all waited then for Mrs. Trenchard; they did not doubt what she would say. Katherine, strangely, at that moment felt that she loved her mother as she had never loved her before. In the very fury of the indignation that would be directed against Philip would be the force of her love for her daughter. This pause, as they all waited for Mrs. Trenchard to speak, was weighted with the indignation that they expected from her. But Mrs. Trenchard laughed: “My dear Aggie: what a scene! really too stupid. As you have mentioned this, I may say that I have known—these things—about Philip for a long time. But I said nothing because—well, because it is really not my business what life Philip led before he met us. Perhaps I know more about young men and their lives, Aggie, than you do.” “You knew!” Henry gasped. “You’ve known!” Aggie cried. Katherine had, at the sound of her mother’s voice, given her one flash of amazement: then she had turned to Philip, while she felt a cold shudder at her heart as though she were some prisoner suddenly clapt into a cage and the doors bolted. “Yes,” said Mrs. Trenchard, “Mr. Seymour came a long time ago and told me things that he thought I ought to know. I said to Mr. Seymour that he must not do such things, and that if I ever spoke of it to Philip I should give him his name. I disapprove of such things. Yes, it was Mr. Seymour—I think he never liked you, Philip, because you contradicted him about Russia. He’s a nice, clever boy, but I daresay he’s wrong in his facts....” Then, as they still waited in silence, “I really think that’s all, Aggie. You must forgive me, dear, but I don’t think it was quite your business. Katherine is over age, you know, and in any case it isn’t quite nice in the drawing-room—and really only because your tea was cold, Aggie dear.” “You’ve known ... you’ll do nothing, Harriet?” Aggie gasped. Mrs. Trenchard looked at them before she turned back to her writing-table. “You can ring for some fresh tea if you like,” she said.