lies about bears and lions, at the gallant child and the giant.

Mrs. Hilary, herself romantically sensible, as middle-aged ladies are, of
valour and high adventure, granted Grandmama David and Goliath, but still
repined at the hymns and the sermon.

"Good words, my dear, good words," Grandmama said to that. For Grandmama
had been brought up not to criticise sermons, but had failed to bring up
Mrs. Hilary to the same self-abnegation. The trouble with Mrs. Hilary
was, and had always been, that she expected (even now) too much of life.
Grandmama expected only what she got. And Neville, wisest of all, had not
listened, for she too _expected_ what she would get if she did. She was
really rather like Grandmama, in her cynically patient acquiescence, only
brought up in a different generation, and not to hear sermons. In the
gulf of years between these two, Mrs. Hilary's restless, questing passion
fretted like unquiet waves.


5

"This Barry Briscoe," said Mrs. Hilary to Neville after lunch, as she
watched Nan and he start off for a walk together. "I suppose he's in love
with her?"

"I suppose so. Something of the kind, anyhow."

Mrs. Hilary said, discontentedly, "Another of Nan's married men, no
doubt. She _collects_ them."

"No, Barry's not married."