The House in Cadogan Place had been given up, and Grafton had taken a flat. Beatrix dined with him there on Monday. Dick was stationed at Chatham, but was unable to get away that evening.

Beatrix was radiantly happy, and more beautiful than ever. She was growing up to herself all round. Every time that he saw her, Grafton congratulated himself anew upon having saved her from that other marriage. Perhaps at first she would have shown herself just as happy in it; but he would always have been looking for developments, and changes, none of which he would have expected to be for the better. Now he knew that all her charm of character could find safe play, and add to her own happiness and the happiness of those about her, and that its deeper qualities would be brought into being too, fostered and strengthened. There was a quality of all-round fitness in her marriage upon which he, who loved her, could rest himself with pleasure. And she was always demonstratively affectionate towards him when they met, though not quite in the same way as she had been before her marriage. All her thoughts were centred in Dick, and if he had not been prepared to accept Dick as deserving of all that she gave him, he would have felt the difference. But there was nothing about Dick that he did not like and respect. He had taken him in, as he had told Caroline he must be able to take in his daughters' husbands, if he were not to feel too acutely their loss, and as he was now struggling to take Maurice in, for Caroline's sake, and also for his own.

"Daddy, darling, how awful this is about Caroline!" was Beatrix's first word upon that subject.

He had not expected quite such a determined expression of opinion, and hardly knew what to reply for the moment. It gave him a slight sinking of heart, he had no time to ask himself why.

"You haven't told her you think it's awful, have you?" he asked.

"Oh, no, of course not. I've written her a very nice letter. So has Dick. And we've both written to Maurice. It seems funny to have to call him Maurice. If she's got to marry him, Dick says we must treat him as if we were pleased about it. And she told us that you had been simply adorable about it. So we knew that was the line you'd like us to take. But you can't really be pleased, are you, Dad?"

"Why do you think it's so awful?" he asked.

"Oh, Daddy, darling, look at him! Look at him beside a man like Dick."

This rather annoyed him, but he did not show it. "Oh, well, look at anybody beside Dick!" he said, pinching her chin.

Dinner was announced at that moment, and the subject was avoided until the servant left them alone together. Then Grafton spoke immediately. "Look here, B darling," he said, "I hope you won't go about crabbing this marriage of Cara's. If you do, she's bound to find it out sooner or later, and it will make her unhappy. It won't alter anything. She won't take your view of him, you know, and it can only divide her from you. It will make a cleavage in our family, and that's just what I don't want. You'll each have your own homes, but your old home will be a centre for all of you too. This chap will be part of the family now, and we've got to accept him, for Caroline's sake."

She laughed at him. "This chap!" she repeated. "You darling transparent old thing! You think it's just as odd as I do—her marrying like that. You didn't talk of Dick as 'this chap!'"

He was annoyed with himself for the slip. He had not meant to excuse or explain himself to Beatrix, but now he would have to. "That's just what I was warning you about," he said. "I don't deny that there are certain things one has to get over, and until you do get over them you're likely to let drop something that shows you haven't quite. That's what you must be careful about."

"Well, darling, I'm glad you haven't been so careful as all that, with me. You can quite safely tell me everything. It wouldn't be nice of you to pretend before me. I might think it very splendid of you, but I shouldn't love you more for it. I'm quite ready to back you up in keeping what you really think from Caroline."

He felt the ground slipping from beneath his feet. "What does Dick say about it?" he asked. "Can't he see anything in Maurice that all the world can't see?"

"He thinks he is very nice; but of course he doesn't look upon him as a suitable husband for Caroline. He doesn't think you can either, and he can't make out why you don't try to stop it. You did with me—before—and we've never ceased blessing you for it."

"I didn't try to stop it with you because that fellow—I suppose you've no objection to my calling him that—"

"You can call him what you like, darling."

"Well, I didn't object to him because he hadn't got enough money. That's about what it would come to here."

"Oh, no, it isn't, darling. And you don't think it is either."

"Oh, if you can't talk about it sensibly, B, we'd better chuck it." He rose from the table.

She rose too and slipped her arm into his as they went into the other room, and laughed at him. "I think it's awfully sweet of you to want to make the best of it," she said. "I won't worry you any more, darling, if you're certain that nothing can stop it."

"Well, you ought to be able to see it as I do. You know what Caroline is. She wouldn't give her love, and take it away again when the sort of objections that you feel towards Maurice are pointed out to her. She's faced all that, and it doesn't matter to her. She sees a lot more in him than you can, or than I've been able to; though I tell you that there is a lot in him, and I'm quite ready to accept him. So you—and Dick—ought to make the effort too."

They were standing together before the fire, her arm still in his. Her face was graver, as she said: "Caroline is different to me. That's quite true."

"I haven't meant anything I've said to reflect on you."

"I know, darling. But you wouldn't treat it like that if it were me, all the same. Well, of course we shall be as nice about it as ever we can, and if he does turn into something that makes him more equal to Caroline it will be all the easier. It's quite beyond me to think of him as her equal now, Dad, so you mustn't expect me to do it."

"Oh, well, don't show it; that's all I ask," he said.

The view taken of the affair by Lady Grafton, whom he saw in the course of the week, was that it was his own fault for burying Caroline in the country. If he hadn't wanted her there whenever he went down to Abington she would have gone about more and met the right sort of men.

"Oh, my dear Mary!" he said. "She has been meeting what you call the right sort of men all her life. She doesn't want the life she'd lead with them. And as for saying that I've kept her down there, you know that's ridiculous. As a matter of fact it has rather worried me that she never wanted to go anywhere else, and I'd told her so."

"I suppose she had fallen in love with this youth, and didn't want to go away."

"Now you're talking more ridiculously than ever. I believe she was as much surprised as I was when she found out what had happened to her."

"That doesn't sound very likely, George. You told me once that you would know all about it when Caroline's time came; and I told you, I remember, that you wouldn't know anything about it at all. And that's what has happened."

"I suppose you want to annoy me, Mary. You can be the most exasperating of women, and I wonder James has put up with you as long as he has."

"James knows when he's well off. I've never given him a moment's uneasiness in all my blameless life. Why on earth can't you get this put off, as you did with B? You acted so wisely there; and see what a reward you have had! She has made just the right sort of marriage, and is as happy as happy can be. It's delightful to see her."

This speech had the effect of restoring his good humour. He laughed at her. "That's pretty cool, after the way you went for me last year, about B," he said.

"You're very difficult to please. I said you had been wise, as things have turned out. I didn't say I thought you so wise a year ago. If you knew anything about women you'd see how great a concession I've made in acknowledging that you were right, and I was wrong. Now there's a marriage in question much more unsatisfactory than that would have been you sit by and do nothing. You can't possibly like it, and I know quite well why you're giving in. I don't think you ought."

"Why do you suppose I am giving in?"

"Because you're so weak with your girls that you daren't go against them. You're afraid they wouldn't be pleased with you."

He laughed again. "Illogical creature!" he said. "B wasn't at all pleased with me, and I stuck out, for her sake."

"And made an awful lot of fuss about it too. You're afraid of the same thing happening with Caroline, and you daren't face it. That's the plain truth behind all this talk of her knowing exactly what she wants, and your accepting her judgment rather than your own. She knows exactly what she wants now because she's in love. A woman can't judge a man when she's in love with him."

"Perhaps not; but she can judge him before, and Caroline has known this particular man for over a year. So have I, and I say that there's a lot more in him than a person like you can take into account."

"Ah, now you're being abominably rude, which shows that I've made an impression on you. No man can stand being put in the wrong. If you had half the pluck that you think you have you'd risk Caroline behaving to you like B did, and save her from making a mistake."

"You see, I don't think she is making a mistake. You don't know Caroline as well as I do."

"I know Caroline very well. And I know women in general much better than you do."

"On the outside, perhaps. But you're rather a shallow character yourself, and one wouldn't expect you to understand everything about a girl like Caroline. You're also the least little bit of a snob. Most people are, and it's nothing particular against you."

"It's no use trying to make me angry, because you won't succeed. If I can stand being called a snob I can stand anything, and it doesn't make the least impression on me. Besides, it's a ridiculous charge in this connection."

"You don't object to young Bradby for anything that he is in himself; you only object because you don't think he's a good match for Caroline."

"Quite so. But that's not snobbery; it's common sense. However, I see you're determined to have your own way, and I shan't say any more. You have the air of being one of the most reasonable men in the world, and you're really one of the most obstinate, as well as quite one of the rudest. However, no woman who didn't know you as well as I do would be likely to find that out, and in a general way your manners are charming. Now you have lost B, and are going to sacrifice Caroline, I think you might do what I once advised you to, and marry again, yourself. It would put an end to all this acute annoyance you show so plainly when somebody else comes along to interfere with the arrangements you have made for a comfortable family life that shall centre round yourself."

There was a pause, and then Grafton threw his head back and roared with laughter. "That's in return for the accusation of snobbery, I suppose," he said.

Lady Grafton laughed too. "I can be just as rude as you can," she said, "and I can do it much more subtly. I wish you wouldn't make me laugh, and spoil everything. I'm extremely annoyed with you, and there are a lot more offensive things I should like to say. However, I dare say you'll give me another chance. But seriously, George, this isn't the sort of marriage Caroline ought to make. I've seen the young man, and I've nothing against him in his proper place. But he is hopelessly gauche and middle-class. That's bound to tell by and bye. Women are supposed to have no real discrimination about men, and there's this much truth in it that they can and do fall in love with men who are beneath them, just as men fall in love with women who are beneath them. But when they've been brought up like Caroline they simply can't ally themselves with people not of their own class. Before many years are up she'll be criticising him for his deficiencies. If she does marry him of course her relations aren't going to throw her over for it, but she'll drop out completely. Some men can learn, and raise themselves from the class they were born in, especially if they have clever wives; but I'm sure this young man isn't one of them. He'll keep her down to what he is himself, and really, George, it's a good deal below what Caroline is, or what she ought to be given over to."

"Well, Mary, you've put it sensibly at last. But you're wrong in several particulars, all the same. If it were as simple and obvious as all that I should agree with you; so would Caroline, for that matter, and she wouldn't want to marry him. What you've missed altogether is that the boy has character. I've come to see it already, and he'll grow into something that she can be proud of. Another thing you've missed is that she really doesn't want to live in the usual round. She has kept herself almost entirely out of it for the last eighteen months, because she likes her quiet country life better. She'll have that with him, and she'll get more companionship in the sort of things she likes doing than with a fellow like Francis Parry, for instance."

"Ah, poor Francis! I don't know what he'll say when he hears about it. Fancy preferring young Bradby to a man like that! Well, if Caroline really does, and you're going to back her up in it, she's not quite what I thought she was, and I suppose I'd better let it alone."

"I really think you had, Mary. If Caroline isn't quite what you thought she was, I assure you she hasn't deteriorated. As far as I'm concerned there's something in all your jibes, but not as much as you think there is. I do hate losing my girls. They've been more to me than most daughters are to their fathers, because I've only had them. But because I feel like that, I should be all the more careful not to let it affect my actions towards them. My thoughts perhaps I can't help it affecting. And it's true that I shrink from going through with Caroline what I did with B. But that wouldn't deter me from standing out if I saw good reason to do so. I don't; so I'm not going to spoil things by giving in grudgingly."

"You're even going to hurry on the marriage, I hear. And you're providing them with a house—of course at Abington. I don't object to that though. Caroline won't lose everything that she's been used to having, and if you get rather more of her society than you're entitled to, perhaps you deserve it, as you're acting so nobly."

Which left the last word with Lady Grafton.

Lady Handsworth was not so critical. She said that she did not understand it, but she seemed more ready than Lady Grafton to agree that any man whom Caroline loved must be worth loving. She thought it a pity that Grafton should not allow time to work, as he might well have done under all the circumstances, instead of making it possible for Caroline to marry at once without giving her time to think better of it. But Lady Handsworth had never seen Maurice, and did not regard him, as Lady Grafton did, as below the point of gentility with which Caroline ought to ally herself. So her objections were not likely to be so strong, and Grafton managed to satisfy her that holding out would not alter matters, and that an early marriage would make for Caroline's happiness.

Young George had a 'short leave' during this week and spent it with his father. He had no objections to urge against the marriage. "I like Maurice, and always have," he said. "I think he'll make a jolly good husband for Caroline, Dad, if you help 'em along a bit. I don't suppose he'll ever make much boodle; but as long as they have enough to get on with I don't think Caroline will mind that."

Grafton was pleased to find his son holding these views. There is nobody more critical of outward appearance than an Eton boy of Young George's age, and if Maurice had succeeded in impressing himself upon him to this extent, it showed that his departure from recognised type was no serious hindrance to him.

"What does the illustrious Jimmy say about it?" he asked.

"Jimmy doesn't know Maurice as well as I do. He can only see that he doesn't brush his hair well, and all that sort of thing. His people are all right, aren't they, Dad?"

"Oh, yes. One of his brothers called on me at the Bank yesterday. His hair was brushed all right, and he would have passed all Jimmy's tests. I like your view much better, Bunting. I dare say I should have taken Jimmy's when I was your age, but as you grow older you learn to judge by other standards. I'm glad you've begun to do that already."

"Well, I suppose if it was anybody I didn't know so well as I do Maurice I might not care about it much for Caroline. That's why I don't blame Jimmy much, though he's rather a swanky ass over that sort of thing."

"What is it you like particularly about Maurice? He's so much younger than I am—and always seemed rather alarmed in my presence—that I hadn't sized him up as well as you seem to have done."

Young George was flattered at having his opinion asked in this way, and thought a little before answering. "One of the things I like about him is just that he doesn't try to swank," he said. "I suppose it wouldn't be very difficult to make your hair stick down and buy the right sort of ties and collars if you wanted to. But he doesn't think it's important. He's as keen as mustard on making the best of himself in other ways. He thinks everybody has his own line in life if he can only find it. He's found his all right, but he did his work as well as he knew how, as long as he was in that beastly bank. We've talked a lot about that sort of thing. I like him as a pal as well as anybody I know, except you, Dad."

"Have you talked about your own career in life, Bunting?"

"We've talked a good deal about school. He thinks most fellows don't take their work seriously enough. He did his, but he says he hasn't got that sort of brain, and didn't make much of a hand at it. But he says it makes all the difference if you look upon school work as something you've got responsibility for, yourself, and don't leave it all to the beaks, to see that they get something out of you."

"Have you acted on his advice?"

"Well, yes, I have. I'm supposed to be rather a sap at school. But I find it rather jolly to take an intelligent interest in what I'm doing. Saves a lot of trouble with the beaks too."

"You never told me that, old boy. I'm glad to hear it."

"Well, I thought you were keener on my getting my eleven some day, Dad."

Grafton laughed. "Oh, we fathers!" he said. "And then they complain of a public-school education. But I like the idea of your working too, Bunting. I'm afraid I had nobody to string me up to it when I was at school; but I've done some work since, and liked doing it as well as anything. You'll find most men who are worth anything do. And certainly school work is interesting if you make it so for yourself. Maurice is a worker, isn't he? That's something good about him."

"Oh, yes; and he's dead straight too. He's a chap you can't help having a respect for. Of course I like Dick, awfully. He's straight too, and keen on his job. But I think there's even more in Maurice than there is in Dick. He wouldn't have done for B, but he'll do all right for Caroline. He thinks all the world of her, too. I know that."

"Did you see this coming, then, Bunting?"

"Well, no, I didn't. I didn't think she liked him in that sort of way, though she was always jolly decent to him. She seemed a lot older than him, and of course he is a bit different from the men she's made friends with before. But I'm glad she's had the sense to see what a good chap he is. Jimmy says she might have married anybody, and it's a come-down for her. But I don't think so."

"Nor do I, old son," said Grafton. "Nothing that Caroline could possibly do would be a come-down for her. She's one of the people you can always trust to do what's right."

"She gets it from you, Dad."

"No, old boy. She gets it from somebody much better than me."