seemed to her the honorable thing to do to go away openly with the man
she loved, instead of concealing it.--Oh, can't you understand? Don't
you see the difference between generous, blind sacrifice, and what you
call 'wickedness'?"

"No," said Jemima, with pursed lips. "I must confess I can't. That
happens to be my weakness.--But I can see, and have always seen, that
Jacqueline is one of the sort of people who ought to be married as early
in life as possible."

"Exactly! And who better for her than Philip?"

Jemima looked at her mother in utter exasperation. Was it possible that
she was still blind to the thing that was the gossip of the countryside?
Or--a new thought!--was it possible that she was going to take advantage
of Philip's devotion to her, of his idealism and capacity for
self-immolation, to persuade him into carrying out her long-laid plans?
Jemima herself might have been capable of such a ruthless thing, but on
consideration she did not believe it of her mother. There was a certain
large innocence about Mrs. Kildare, an almost virginal shyness of mind,
that made it difficult for her to conceive, even in the face of direct
evidence, that a man younger than herself, a man whom she chose to
regard as a son, could be regarding her in turn with eyes other than
filial. Jemima did her the justice to recognize this.

She opened her lips to inform her mother of the truth, but somehow found
herself saying instead, rather lamely, "She's not in love with Philip!"

Kate smiled. "This from _you_, my dear?"

The bride flushed. "When I spoke as I did about love not being necessary
to marriage, I was thinking of myself, not of Jacqueline," she explained
with dignity. "People have different requirements. Besides, I happened
not to be in love with anybody else."

"That does make a difference, but I am counting on time," said the
mother. "Time and propinquity. You are not old enough yet to realize the
strength of those two factors, my dear. I am.--You said once that
Jacqueline was oversexed. I think you are wrong. She simply matured very
early, without our realising it. Certain instincts are very strong in
her--the maternal instinct, for one--stronger than her judgment.--Just
as it was with me. She is not the first poor little trusting dreamer to
put up her altar to the Unknown God, and worship before the first who
chooses to usurp it. But the altar remains, when the usurper has
passed."

"For Philip to occupy? Poor P