so cheaply, though our
Society affects to think it is. Barmby's off to the East End of this
London, Victor informs me:--good fellow! And there he'll be groaning over
our vicious nature. Nature is not more responsible for vice than she is
for inhumanity. Both bad, but the latter's the worse of the two.'

Nataly interposed: 'I see the contrast, and see whom it's to strike.'

Dartrey sent a thought after his meaning. 'Hardly that. Let it stand. He
's only one with the world: but he shares the criminal infamy for
crushing hope out of its frailest victims. They're that--no sentiment.
What a world, too, look behind it!--brutal because brutish. The world may
go hang: we expect more of your gentleman. To hear of Nesta down there,
and doubt that she was about good work; and come complaining! He had the
privilege of speaking to her, remonstrating, if he wished. There are men
who think--men!--the plucking of sinners out of the mire a dirty
business. They depute it to certain officials. And your women--it's the
taste of the world to have them educated so, that they can as little take
the humane as the enlightened view. Except, by the way, sometimes, in
secret;--they have a sisterly breast. In secret, they do occasionally
think as they feel. In public, the brass mask of the Idol they call
Propriety commands or supplies their feelings and thoughts. I won't
repeat my reasons for educating them differently. At present we have but
half the woman to go through life with--and thank you.'

Dartrey stopped. 'Don't be disturbed,' he added. 'There's no ground for
alarm. Not of any sort.'

Nataly said: 'What name?'

'Her name is Mrs. Marsett.'

'The name is . . . ?'

'Captain Marsett: will be Sir Edward. He came back from the Continent
yesterday.'

A fit of shuddering seized Nataly. It grew in violence, and speaking out
of it, with a pause of sickly empty chatter of the jaws, she said:
'Always that name?'

'Before the maiden name? May have been or not.'

'Not, you say?'

'I don't accurately know.'

Dartrey sprang to his legs. 'My dear soul! dear friend--one of the best!
if we go on fencing in the dark, there'll be wounds. Your way of taking
this affair disappointed me. Now I understand. It's the disease of a
trouble, to fly at comparisons. No real one exists. I wished to protect
the woman from a happier sister's judgement, to save you from alarm
concerning Nesta:--quite groundless, if you'll believe me. Come, there's
plenty of