ughty?" said Margaret, who hated naughtiness more than sin. "When
you're married Miss Wilcox, won't you want outside interests?"

"He has apparently got them," put in Mr. Wilcox slyly.

"Yes, indeed, father."

"He was tramping in Surrey, if you mean that," said Margaret, pacing
away rather crossly.

"Oh, I dare say!"

"Miss Wilcox, he was!"

"M--m--m--m!" from Mr. Wilcox, who thought the episode amusing, if
risque. With most ladies he would not have discussed it, but he was
trading on Margaret's reputation as an emancipated woman.

"He said so, and about such a thing he wouldn't lie."

They both began to laugh.

"That's where I differ from you. Men lie about their positions and
prospects, but not about a thing of that sort."

He shook his head. "Miss Schlegel, excuse me, but I know the type."

"I said before--he isn't a type. He cares about adventures rightly. He
's certain that our smug existence isn't all. He's vulgar and hysterical
and bookish, but don't think that sums him up. There's manhood in him as
well. Yes, that's what I'm trying to say. He's a real man."

As she spoke their eyes met, and it was as if Mr. Wilcox's defences
fell. She saw back to the real man in him. Unwittingly she had touched
his emotions.

A woman and two men--they had formed the magic triangle of sex, and
the male was thrilled to jealousy, in case the female was attracted by
another male. Love, say the ascetics, reveals our shameful kinship with
the beasts. Be it so: one can bear that; jealousy is the real shame. It
is jealousy, not love, that connects us with the farmyard intolerably,
and calls up visions of two angry cocks and a complacent hen. Margaret
crushed complacency down because she was civilised. Mr. Wilcox,
uncivilised, continued to feel anger long after he had rebuilt his
defences, and was again presenting a bastion to the world.

"Miss Schlegel, you're a pair of dear creatures, but you really MUST be
careful in this uncharitable world. What does your brother say?"

"I forget."

"Surely he has some opinion?"

"He laughs, if I remember correctly."

"He's very clever, isn't he?" said Evie, who had met and detested Tibby
at Oxford.

"Yes, pretty well--but I wonder what Helen's doing."

"She is very young to undertake this sort of thing," said Mr. Wilcox.

Margaret went out to the landing. She heard no sound, and Mr. Bast's
topper was missing from the hall.

"Helen!" she called.

"Yes!" replied a voice f