Dartrey sent a thought after his meaning.  ’Hardly that.  Let it stand.  He ’s only one with the world:  but he shares the criminal infamy for crushing hope out of its frailest victims.  They’re that—­no sentiment.  What a world, too, look behind it!—­brutal because brutish.  The world may go hang:  we expect more of your gentleman.  To hear of Nesta down there, and doubt that she was about good work; and come complaining!  He had the privilege of speaking to her, remonstrating, if he wished.  There are men who think—­men!—­the plucking of sinners out of the mire a dirty business.  They depute it to certain officials.  And your women—­it’s the taste of the world to have them educated so, that they can as little take the humane as the enlightened view.  Except, by the way, sometimes, in secret;—­they have a sisterly breast.  In secret, they do occasionally think as they feel.  In public, the brass mask of the Idol they call Propriety commands or supplies their feelings and thoughts.  I won’t repeat my reasons for educating them differently.  At present we have but half the woman to go through life with—­and thank you.’

Dartrey stopped.  ‘Don’t be disturbed,’ he added.  ’There’s no ground for alarm.  Not of any sort.’

Nataly said:  ‘What name?’

‘Her name is Mrs. Marsett.’

‘The name is . . . ?’

’Captain Marsett:  will be Sir Edward.  He came back from the Continent yesterday.’

A fit of shuddering seized Nataly.  It grew in violence, and speaking out of it, with a pause of sickly empty chatter of the jaws, she said:  ‘Always that name?’

‘Before the maiden name?  May have been or not.’

‘Not, you say?’

‘I don’t accurately know.’

Dartrey sprang to his legs.  ’My dear soul! dear friend—­one of the best! if we go on fencing in the dark, there’ll be wounds.  Your way of taking this affair disappointed me.  Now I understand.  It’s the disease of a trouble, to fly at comparisons.  No real one exists.  I wished to protect the woman from a happier sister’s judgement, to save you from alarm concerning Nesta:—­quite groundless, if you’ll believe me.  Come, there’s plenty of benevolent writing abroad on these topics now:  facts are more looked at, and a good woman may join us in taking them without the horrors and loathings of angels rather too much given to claim distinction from the luckless.  A girl who’s unprotected may go through adventures before she fixes, and be a creature of honest intentions.  Better if protected, we all agree.  Better also if the world did not favour the girl’s multitude of enemies.  Your system of not dealing with facts openly is everyway favourable to them.  I am glad to say, Victor recognizes what corruption that spread of wealth is accountable for.  And now I must go and have a talk with the—­what a change from the blue butterfly!  Eaglet, I ought to have said.  I dine with you, for Victor may bring news.’