of a
drama; whereas Gaston was effusive and appealing and ridiculous and
graceful--natural above all and egotistical. Indeed a true young
Anglo-Saxon wouldn't have known the particular acuteness of such a
quandary, for he wouldn't have parted to such an extent with his freedom
of spirit. It was the fact of this surrender on his visitor's part that
excited Waterlow's secret scorn: family feeling was all very well, but
to see it triumph as a superstition calling for the blood-sacrifice made
him feel he would as soon be a blackamoor on his knees before a fetish.
He now measured for the first time the root it had taken in Gaston's
nature. To act like a man the hope of the Proberts must pull up the
root, even if the operation should be terribly painful, should be
attended with cries and tears and contortions, with baffling scruples
and a sense of sacrilege, the sense of siding with strangers against his
own flesh and blood. Now and again he broke out: "And if you should see
her as she looks just now--she's too lovely, too touching!--you'd see
how right I was originally, when I found her such a revelation of that
rare type, the French Renaissance, you know, the one we talked about."
But he reverted with at least equal frequency to the oppression he
seemed unable to throw off, the idea of something done of cruel purpose
and malice, with a refinement of outrage: such an accident to THEM, of
all people on earth, the very last, the least thinkable, those who, he
verily believed, would feel it more than any family in the world. When
Waterlow asked what made them of so exceptionally fine a fibre he could
only answer that they just happened to be--not enviably, if one would;
it was his father's influence and example, his very genius, the worship
of privacy and good manners, a hatred of all the new familiarities and
profanations. The artist sought to know further, at last and rather
wearily, what in two words was the practical question his friend desired
he should consider. Whether he should be justified in throwing the girl
over--was that the issue?

"Gracious goodness, no! For what sort of sneak do you take me? She made
a mistake, but any innocent young creature might do that. It's whether
it strikes you I should be justified in throwing THEM over."

"It depends upon the sense you attach to justification."

"I mean should I be miserably unhappy? Would it be in their power to
make me so?"

"To try--certainly, if they're capable