ry his cousin might be.
Could any one, except a rather singular character, afford to be so
ridiculously vain?

"I don't think I should get on in that society," he replied. "I don't
think I should know what to say to Lady Rose if I met her."

"I don't find any difficulty," Rodney chuckled. "You talk to them about
their children, if they have any, or their accomplishments--painting,
gardening, poetry--they're so delightfully sympathetic. Seriously, you
know I think a woman's opinion of one's poetry is always worth having.
Don't ask them for their reasons. Just ask them for their feelings.
Katharine, for example--"

"Katharine," said Henry, with an emphasis upon the name, almost as if he
resented Rodney's use of it, "Katharine is very unlike most women."

"Quite," Rodney agreed. "She is--" He seemed about to describe her, and
he hesitated for a long time. "She's looking very well," he stated, or
rather almost inquired, in a different tone from that in which he had
been speaking. Henry bent his head.

"But, as a family, you're given to moods, eh?"

"Not Katharine," said Henry, with decision.

"Not Katharine," Rodney repeated, as if he weighed the meaning of the
words. "No, perhaps you're right. But her engagement has changed her.
Naturally," he added, "one would expect that to be so." He waited for
Henry to confirm this statement, but Henry remained silent.

"Katharine has had a difficult life, in some ways," he continued. "I
expect that marriage will be good for her. She has great powers."

"Great," said Henry, with decision.

"Yes--but now what direction d'you think they take?"

Rodney had completely dropped his pose as a man of the world, and seemed
to be asking Henry to help him in a difficulty.

"I don't know," Henry hesitated cautiously.

"D'you think children--a household--that sort of thing--d'you think
that'll satisfy her? Mind, I'm out all day."

"She would certainly be very competent," Henry stated.

"Oh, she's wonderfully competent," said Rodney. "But--I get absorbed in
my poetry. Well, Katharine hasn't got that. She admires my poetry, you
know, but that wouldn't be enough for her?"

"No," said Henry. He paused. "I think you're right," he added, as if he
were summing up his thoughts. "Katharine hasn't found herself yet. Life
isn't altogether real to her yet--I sometimes think--"

"Yes?" Rodney inquired, as if he were eager for Henry to continue. "That
is what I--" he was going on, as Henry re