Helen and her aunt returned to Wickham Place in a state of collapse, and
for a little time Margaret had three invalids on her hands. Mrs. Munt
soon recovered. She possessed to a remarkable degree the power of
distorting the past, and before many days were over she had forgotten
the part played by her own imprudence in the catastrophe. Even at the
crisis she had cried, "Thank goodness, poor Margaret is saved this!"
which during the journey to London evolved into, "It had to be gone
through by some one," which in its turn ripened into the permanent form
of "The one time I really did help Emily's girls was over the Wilcox
business." But Helen was a more serious patient. New ideas had burst
upon her like a thunderclap, and by them and by their reverberations she
had been stunned.

The truth was that she had fallen in love, not with an individual, but
with a family.

Before Paul arrived she had, as it were, been tuned up into his key.
The energy of the Wilcoxes had fascinated her, had created new images of
beauty in her responsive mind. To be all day with them in the open air,
to sleep at night under their roof, had seemed the supreme joy of
life, and had led to that abandonment of personality that is a possible
prelude to love. She had liked giving in to Mr. Wilcox, or Evie,
or Charles; she had liked being told that her notions of life were
sheltered or academic; that Equality was nonsense, Votes for Women
nonsense, Socialism nonsense, Art and Literature, except when conducive
to strengthening the character, nonsense. One by one the Schlegel
fetiches had been overthrown, and, though professing to defend them, she
had rejoiced. When Mr. Wilcox said that one sound man of business did
more good to the world than a dozen of your social reformers, she had
swallowed the curious assertion without a gasp, and had leant back
luxuriously among the cushions of his motorcar. When Charles said, "Why
be so polite to servants? they don't understand it," she had not given
the Schlegel retort of, "If they don't understand it, I do." No; she
had vowed to be less polite to servants in the future. "I am swathed in
cant," she thought, "and it is good for me to be stripped of it." And
all that she thought or did or breathed was a quiet preparation for
Paul. Paul was inevitable. Charles was taken up with another girl, Mr.
Wilcox was so old, Evie so young, Mrs. Wilcox so different. Round the
absent brother she began to throw the halo of Romanc