Lady Franks tried to turn off the conversation to the trickles of normal chit-chat.  The Colonel was horribly bored—­so were all the women—­Arthur was indifferent.  Only the young Major was implicated, troubled in his earnest and philosophic spirit.

“What I can’t see,” he said, “is the place that others have in your scheme.”

“Is isn’t a scheme,” said Aaron.

“Well then, your way of life.  Isn’t it pretty selfish, to marry a woman and then expect her to live on very little indeed, and that always precarious, just because you happen to believe in Providence or in Chance:  which I think worse?  What I don’t see is where others come in.  What would the world be like if everybody lived that way?”

“Other people can please themselves,” said Aaron.

“No, they can’t—­because you take first choice, it seems to me.  Supposing your wife—­or Lilly’s wife—­asks for security and for provision, as Sir William says.  Surely she has a right to it.”

“If I’ve no right to it myself—­and I HAVE no right to it, if I don’t want it—­then what right has she?”

“Every right, I should say.  All the more since you are improvident.”

“Then she must manage her rights for herself.  It’s no good her foisting her rights on to me.”

“Isn’t that pure selfishness?”

“It may be.  I shall send my wife money as long as I’ve money to send.”

“And supposing you have none?”

“Then I can’t send it—­and she must look out for herself.”

“I call that almost criminal selfishness.”

“I can’t help it.”

The conversation with the young Major broke off.

“It is certainly a good thing for society that men like you and Mr.
Lilly are not common,” said Sir William, laughing.

“Becoming commoner every day, you’ll find,” interjaculated the Colonel.

“Indeed!  Indeed!  Well.  May we ask you another question, Mr. Sisson?  I hope you don’t object to our catechism?”

“No.  Nor your judgment afterwards,” said Aaron, grinning.

“Then upon what grounds did you abandon your family?  I know it is a tender subject.  But Lilly spoke of it to us, and as far I could see. . . .”

“There were no grounds,” said Aaron.  “No, there weren’t I just left them.”

“Mere caprice?”

“If it’s a caprice to be begotten—­and a caprice to be born—­and a caprice to die—­then that was a caprice, for it was the same.”

“Like birth or death?  I don’t follow.”

“It happened to me:  as birth happened to me once—­and death will happen.  It was a sort of death, too:  or a sort of birth.  But as undeniable as either.  And without any more grounds.”

The old, tremulous man, and the young man were watching one another.

“A natural event,” said Sir William.

“A natural event,” said Aaron.

“Not that you loved any other woman?”