"You may call it kindness, I call it shocking indifference. They're worse than the Ransomes. I don't believe the Ransomes know what's decent. The Hannays know, but they don't care. They're all dreadful people; and their sympathy with each other is the most dreadful thing about them. They hold together and stand up for each other, and are 'kind' to each other, because they all like the same low, vulgar, detestable things. That's why Mr. Hannay married Mrs. Hannay, and Mr. Ransome married Lady Cayley's sister. They're all admirably suited to each other, but not, my dear Edie, to you or me." "They're certainly not your sort, I admit." "Nor yours either." "No, nor mine either," said Edith, smiling. "Poor Anne, I'm sorry we've let you in for them." "I'm not thinking only of myself. The terrible thing is that you should be let in, too." "Oh, me--how can they harm me?" "They have harmed you." "How?" "By keeping other people away." "What people?" "The nice people you should have known. You were entitled to the very best. The Eliotts and the Gardners--those are the people who should have been your friends, not the Hannays and the Ransomes; and not, believe me, darling, Mr. Gorst." For a moment Edith unveiled the tragic suffering in her eyes. It passed, and left her gaze grave and lucid and serene. "What do you know of Mr. Gorst?" "Enough, dear, to see that he isn't fit for you to know." "Poor Charlie, that's what he's always saying himself. I've known him too long, you see, not to know him now. Years and years, my dear, before I knew you." "It was through Mrs. Eliott that I knew you, remember." "Because you were determined to know me. It was through you that I knew Mrs. Eliott. Before that, she never made the smallest attempt to know me better or to show me any kindness. Why should she?" "Well, my dear, if you kept her at arm's length--if you let her see, for instance, that you preferred Mr. Gorst's society to hers--" "Do you think I let her see it?" "No, I don't. And it wouldn't enter her head. But, considering that she can't receive Mr. Gorst into her own house--" "Why should she?" "Edie--if she cannot, how can you?" Edith closed her eyes. "I'll tell you some day, dear, but not now." Anne did not press her. She had not the courage to discuss Mr. Gorst with her, nor the heart to tell her that he was to be received into her house no more. She saw Edith growing tender over his very name; she felt that there would be tears and entreaties, and she was determined that no entreaties and no tears should move her to a base surrender. Her pause was meant to banish the idea of Mr. Gorst from Edith's mind, but it only served to fix it more securely there. "Edith," she said presently, "I will keep my promise." "Which promise?" Edith was mystified. Her mind unwillingly renounced the idea of Mr. Gorst, and the promise could not possibly refer to him. "The promise I made to you about Walter."