Katherine came nearer. “I’m sorry—terribly sorry—if I did what hurt you. I felt at the time that it was the only thing to do. Phil was so miserable, and I know that it was all for my sake. It wasn’t fair to let him go on like that when I could prevent it. You didn’t understand him. He didn’t understand you. But never, for a single instant, did my love for you change. It never has. It never will. Mother dear, you believe that—you _must_ believe that.” Did Mrs. Trenchard have then for a moment a vision of the things that she might still do with life? With her eyes, during these weeks, she had seen not Katherine but her own determination to vindicate her stability, the stability of all her standards, against every attack. They said that the world was changing. She at least could show them that she would not change. Even though, in her own house, that revolution had occurred about which she had been warned, she would show them that she remained, through it all, stable, unconquered. Katherine had gone over to the enemy. Well, she would fasten her life to some other anchor then. It should be as though Katherine and Katherine’s love had never existed. There was offered her now her last chance. One word and she would be part of the new world. One word.... She may for an instant have had her vision. The moment passed. She saw only her own determined invincibility. “You had your choice, Katherine,” she said. “You made it. You broke your word to us. You left us without justification. You have killed your Grandfather. You have shown that our love and care for you during all these years has gone for nothing at all.” Katherine flushed. “I have not shown that—I....” She looked as though she would cry. Her lips trembled. She struggled to compose her voice—then at last went on firmly: “Mother—perhaps I was wrong. I didn’t know what I did. It wasn’t for myself—it was for Philip. It isn’t true that I didn’t think of you all. Mother, let me see Grandfather—only for a moment. He will forgive me. I know—I know.” “He has forbidden us to mention your name to him.” “But if he sees me—” “He is resolved never to see you again.” “But what did I do? If I speak to him, if I kiss him—I must go to him. It’s his birthday. I’ve got a present—” “He is too ill to see you.” This perhaps had moved her, because she went on swiftly: “Katherine, what is the use of this? It hurts both of us. It can do no good. You acted as you thought right. It seemed to show me that you had no care for me after all these years. It shook all my confidence. That can never be between us again, and I could not, I think, in any way follow your new life. I could never forget, and you have now friends and interests that must exclude me. If we meet what can we have now in common? If I had loved you less, perhaps it would be possible, but as it is—no.” Katherine had dried her tears.