es, cold, unready,
yet aware of him, repelled him.

He thought: "It's too soon. She's all rigid. She isn't alive yet.
That's not what she wired for." He thought: "I wish people wouldn't send
their children to Newnham. It retards their development by ten years."

And she thought: "No. I mustn't let him do that. For then he won't be
able to go back on me when I tell him my opinions. It would be simply
trapping him. Supposing--supposing--"

She did not know that that instinctive renunciation was her answer to
the question. Her honour would come first.

"Of course. Of course you had to."

"What would you do about it if you were Daddy?"

"I should send them all to blazes."

"No, but _really_ do?"

"I should do nothing. I should leave it. You'll find that before very
long there'll be letters of apology and restitution."

"Will you come down to the office with me and tell Daddy that?"

"Yes, if you'll come to tea with me somewhere afterwards."

(He really couldn't be expected to do all this for nothing.)

She sent her mother to him while she put on her hat and coat. When she
came down Frances was happy again.

"You see, Mummy, I was right, after all."

"You always were right, darling, all the time."

For the life of her she couldn't help giving that little flick at her
infallible daughter.

"She _is_ right--most of the time," said Drayton. His eyes covered and
protected her.

Anthony was in his office, sitting before the open doors of the cabinet
where he kept his samples of rare and valuable woods. The polished slabs
were laid before him on the table in rows, as he had arranged them to
show to a customer: wine-coloured mahogany, and golden satinwood; ebony
black as jet; tulip-wood mottled like fine tortoiseshell; coromandel
wood, striped black and white like the coat of a civet cat; ghostly
basswood, shining white on dead white; woods of clouded grain, and woods
of shining grain, grain that showed like the slanting, splintered lines
of hewn stone, like moss, like the veins of flowers, the fringes of
birds' feathers, the striping and dappling of beasts; woods of exquisite
grain where the life of the tree drew its own image in its own heart;
woods whose surface was tender to the touch like a fine tissue; and
sweet-smelling sandalwood and camphor-wood and cedar.

Anthony loved his shining, polished slabs of wood. If a man must have a
business, let it be timber. Timber was a clean and fine and noble thing.