‘Go, by all means,’ urged her brother.

‘I don’t think I shall.  They are too respectable.’

’Nonsense!  They seem very open-minded; you really can’t expect absolute unconventionality.  Is it desirable?  Really is it, now?—­ Suppose I were to marry some day, Marcella; do you think my household would be unconventional?’

His voice shook a little, and he kept his eyes averted.  Marcella, to whom her brother’s romance was anything but an agreeable subject,—­ the slight acquaintance she had with the modern Laura did not encourage her to hope for that lady’s widowhood,—­gave no heed to the question.

’They are going to have a house at Budleigh Salterton; do you know of the place?  Somewhere near the mouth of the Exe.  Miss Walworth tells me that one of our old school friends is living there—­ Sylvia Moorhouse.  Did I ever mention Sylvia?  She had gleams of sense, I remember; but no doubt society has drilled all that out of her.’

Christian sighed.

‘Why?’ he urged.  ’Society is getting more tolerant than you are disposed to think.  Very few well-educated people would nowadays object to an acquaintance on speculative grounds.  Some one—­who was it?—­was telling me of a recent marriage between the daughter of some well-known Church people and a man who made no secret of his agnosticism; the parents acquiescing cheerfully.  The one thing still insisted on is decency of behaviour.’

Marcella’s eyes flashed.

’How can you say that?  You know quite well that most kinds of immorality are far more readily forgiven by people of the world than sincere heterodoxy on moral subjects.’

’Well, well, I meant decency from their point of view.  And there really must be such restrictions, you know.  How very few people are capable of what you call sincere heterodoxy, in morals or religion!  Your position is unphilosophical; indeed it is.  Take the world as you find it, and make friends with kind, worthy people.  You have suffered from a needless isolation.  Do accept this opportunity of adding to your acquaintances!—­Do, Marcella!  I shall take it as a great kindness, dear girl.’

His sister let her head lie back against the chair, her face averted.  A stranger seated in Christian’s place, regarding Marcella whilst her features were thus hidden, would have thought it probable that she was a woman of no little beauty.  Her masses of tawny hair, her arms and hands, the pose and outline of her figure, certainly suggested a countenance of corresponding charm, and the ornate richness of her attire aided such an impression.  This thought came to Christian as he gazed at her; his eyes, always so gentle, softened to a tender compassion.  As the silence continued, he looked uneasily about him; when at length he spoke, it was as though a matter of trifling moment had occurred to him.

’By-the-bye, I am told that Malkin (Earwaker’s friend, you know) saw Peak not long ago—­in America.’