The room wore an air of comfort, it was devoid of all distressful knick-knacks and it was arranged as were French "Salons" of the time of Mademoiselle de Lespinasse for conversation, for groups of talkers, for books and papers; the litter of culture. It was a drawing-room for scholars in their leisure moments and for women to whom they could talk. But there was no complaisance in Lady Dashwood's face as she looked at her brother's drawing-room, just because her thoughts were deeply occupied with his future. What was his future to be like? What was in store for him? And these thoughts led her to give expression to a sudden outspoken remark--unflattering to that future. "And now, what woman is going to become mistress of this room?" Lady Dashwood's voice had a harshness in it that startled even herself. "What woman is going to reign here?" she went on, as if daring herself to be gentle and resigned. After she had looked round the room her eye rested upon the portrait over the mantelpiece. He looked as if he had heard her speak and stared back at her with his large persistent selfish eyes--full of cynical wonder. But he remained silent. These were times that he did not understand--but he observed! "It's on Jim's conscience that he _must_ marry, now that men are so scarce. He's obsessed with the idea," continued Lady Dashwood, thinking to herself. "And being like all really good and great men--absolutely helpless--he is prepared to marry any fool who is presented to him." Then she added, "Any fool--or worse!" "And," she went on, speaking angrily to herself, "knowing that he is helpless--I stupidly go and introduce into this house, a silly girl with a pretty face whose object in coming is to be--Mrs. Middleton." Lady Dashwood was mentally lashing herself for this stupidity. "I go and actually put her in his way--at least," she added swiftly, "I allow her mother to bring her and force her upon us and leave her--for the purpose of entrapping him--and so--I've risked his future! And yet," she went on as her self-accusation became too painful, "I never dreamt that he would think of a girl so young--as eighteen--and he forty--and full of thoughts about the future of Oxford--and the New World. Somehow I imagined some pushing female of thirty would pretend to sympathise with his aspirations and marry him: I never supposed----But I ought to have supposed! It was my business to suppose. Here have I left my husband alone, when he hates being alone, for a whole month, in order to put Jim straight--and then I go and 'don't suppose'--I'm more than a fool--I'm----" The right word did not come to her mind.