“If they put religion and honour and justice first, it must,” he repeated.  “You cannot, I venture to say, have happiness without religion and honour and justice; and if Raymond were to go back on his word now, he would be the most miserable man in the country.”

“I wonder.”

“Don’t wonder.  Be sure of it.  Granted he finds himself miserable—­that is because he has committed a fault.  Will it make him less miserable to go on and commit a greater?  Sorrow is a fair price to pay for wisdom, Jenny.  He is a great deal wiser now than he was six months ago, and to shirk his responsibilities and break his word will not mend matters.  Besides, there is another consideration, which you forget.  These young people are no longer free.  Even if they both desired to remain single, honour, justice and religion actually demand marriage.  There was a doubt in my own mind once, too, whether their happiness would be assured by union.  Now there is no doubt.  A child is coming into the world.  Need I say more?”

“I stand corrected,” she answered.  “There is really nothing more to be said.  For the child’s sake, if for no other reason, marry they must.  We know too well the fate of the child born out of wedlock in this country.”

“It is a shameful and cruel fate; and while the Church of England cowardly suffers the State to impose it, and selfish men care not, we, with some enthusiasm for the unborn and some indignation to see their disabilities, must do what lies in our power for them.”

He rambled off into generalities inspired by this grave theme.

“‘Suffer the little children to come unto Me,’ said Christ; and we make it almost impossible for fifty thousand little children to come unto Him every year; and those who stand for Him, the ministers of His Church, lift not a finger.  The little children of nobody they are.  They grow up conscious of their handicap; they come into the world to trust and hope and find themselves pariahs.  Is that conducive to a religious trust in God, or a rational trust in man for these outlawed thousands?”

She brought him back again to Raymond and Sabina.

“Apart from the necessity and justice,” she said, “and taking it for granted that the thing must happen, what is your opinion of the future?  You know Sabina well and ought to be in a position to say if you think she will have the wit and sense to make it a happy marriage.”

“I should wish to think so.  They are a gracious pair—­at least they were.  I liked both boy and girl exceedingly and I happened to be the one who introduced them to each other.  It was after Henry’s death.  Sabina came in with our tea and one could almost see an understanding spring up and come to life under one’s eyes.  They’ve been wicked, Jenny; but such is my hopelessly open mind in the matter of goodness and wickedness, that I often find it harder to forgive some people for doing their duty than others for being wicked.  In fact, some do their duty in a way that is perfectly unforgivable, while others fail in such an affecting and attractive manner that they make you all the fonder of them.”