“Now really, mother, that’s too much—not that—not at this late date!”

“Truth, Hermione, profound truth! You always think it’s Menelaus you’re embracing, and it turns out to be Paris.”

“I give you my word, mother, never in my life have I heard a remark more cynical!”

“On the contrary,” said Helen, “it’s one of the most optimistic remarks you will ever hear, especially coming from me. You don’t understand yet, and many who ought to know seem reluctant to tell, but in love there’s always a natural enchantment of passion to draw us on, and when the enchantment dies as it must, there remains behind it either a disillusion, or a beautiful reality, a friendship, a comradeship, a harmony. This wonder behind the passing spell I’ve never yet found, but I have always sought it, and I persist in believing it may be there.”

“If we all lived on your plan,” said Hermione, “I don’t see what would become of people. We haven’t the right to lead our own lives—”

“If we don’t lead our own life,” said Helen, “we are in danger of trying to lead someone else’s.”

“I mean, we’re not alone in the world,” said Hermione. “You can talk me down, but I wonder you don’t realise how queer your sense of proportion looks. You take me to task because I spread a story about you—false, I’ll admit, but in the circumstances remarkably generous and favourable. Yet you have been preaching ideas here, with your quiet voice and those innocent eyes of yours, ideas which would make us all wicked if we followed them. Telling a little falsehood for a kind purpose doesn’t seem to me so bad as destroying homes and bringing on war and taking men to their death.”

“It wouldn’t seem so bad,” said Helen, “unless you asked what started the destroying of homes, the war and death. You might find that the remote cause was a little falsehood for a kind purpose. If we all lived on my plan, you said. I have no plan, except to be as sincere as possible. We certainly are not alone in the world, and the first condition of living satisfactorily with the others, I think, is to be entirely truthful with them. How can anything be kind that is partly a lie? And you don’t see what would become of people! Well, what’s becoming of them now? Ever since I returned I’ve noticed how the kind ways of our fathers, the manners wise men agreed on for each other’s happiness, can be turned to very mean uses. Charitas came over to see me at once. What could be kinder than to welcome an old friend home? Had she any honest business in my house if she didn’t come as a friend? I’ve returned the call, and I know her through and through. She told me the legends you tried to circulate; of course she hoped they weren’t true. She hoped for the worst. What she wanted when she rushed over here was the first bloom of the gossip, news of my most intimate experiences, to discuss my wickedness more specifically with the neighbours. And then, poor woman, she’s never had any adventures herself. I disappointed her. She got no news, and made it clear that I am an entirely moral woman.”