"What does it matter what sort of room I have when I'm forced to spend
all the best years of my life drawing up deeds in an office?"

"You said two days ago that you found the law so interesting."

"So it is if one could afford to know anything about it."

("That's Herbert only just going to bed now," Joan interposed, as a
door on the landing slammed vigorously. "And then he won't get up in the
morning.")

Ralph looked at the ceiling, and shut his lips closely together. Why,
he wondered, could Joan never for one moment detach her mind from the
details of domestic life? It seemed to him that she was getting more and
more enmeshed in them, and capable of shorter and less frequent flights
into the outer world, and yet she was only thirty-three.

"D'you ever pay calls now?" he asked abruptly.

"I don't often have the time. Why do you ask?"

"It might be a good thing, to get to know new people, that's all."

"Poor Ralph!" said Joan suddenly, with a smile. "You think your sister's
getting very old and very dull--that's it, isn't it?"

"I don't think anything of the kind," he said stoutly, but he flushed.
"But you lead a dog's life, Joan. When you're not working in an office,
you're worrying over the rest of us. And I'm not much good to you, I'm
afraid."

Joan rose, and stood for a moment warming her hands, and, apparently,
meditating as to whether she should say anything more or not. A feeling
of great intimacy united the brother and sister, and the semicircular
lines above their eyebrows disappeared. No, there was nothing more to
be said on either side. Joan brushed her brother's head with her hand as
she passed him, murmured good night, and left the room. For some minutes
after she had gone Ralph lay quiescent, resting his head on his hand,
but gradually his eyes filled with thought, and the line reappeared
on his brow, as the pleasant impression of companionship and ancient
sympathy waned, and he was left to think on alone.

After a time he opened his book, and read on steadily, glancing once or
twice at his watch, as if he had set himself a task to be accomplished
in a certain measure of time. Now and then he heard voices in the house,
and the closing of bedroom doors, which showed that the building, at
the top of which he sat, was inhabited in every one of its cells. When
midnight struck, Ralph shut his book, and with a candle in his hand,
descended to the ground floor, to ascertain that all lights were extinc