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 “I shall tell your mother. But I shall tell her that there is nothing whatever for us to do.”

“But the marriage?” Katharine asked, with some diffidence.

Mr. Hilbery said nothing, and stared into the fire.

“What in the name of conscience did he do it for?” he speculated at last, rather to himself than to her.

Katharine had begun to read her aunt’s letter over again, and she now quoted a sentence. “Ibsen and Butler. He has sent me a letter full of quotations—nonsense, though clever nonsense.”

“Well, if the younger generation want to carry on its life on those lines, it’s none of our affair,” he remarked.

“But isn’t it our affair, perhaps, to make them get married?” Katharine asked rather wearily.

“Why the dickens should they apply to me?” her father demanded with sudden irritation.

“Only as the head of the family─”

“But I’m not the head of the family. Alfred’s the head of the family. Let them apply to Alfred,” said Mr. Hilbery, relapsing again into his arm-chair. Katharine was aware that she had touched a sensitive spot, however, in mentioning the family.

“I think, perhaps, the best thing would be for me to go and see them,” she observed.

“I won’t have you going anywhere near them,” Mr. Hilbery replied with unwonted decision and authority. “Indeed, I don’t understand why they’ve dragged you into the business at all—I don’t see that it’s got anything to do with you.”

“I've always been friends with Cyril,” Katharine observed.

“But did he ever tell you anything about this?” Mr. Hilbery asked rather sharply.

Katharine shook her head. She was, indeed, a good deal hurt that Cyril had not confided in her—did he think,