give herself away. She murmured something about Thackeray and Dickens,
which Neville let pass.

"Writing's just a thing to do, as I see it," Neville went on. "A job,
like another. One must _have_ a job, you know. Not for the money, but for
the job's sake. And Nan enjoys it. But I daresay she'd enjoy marriage
too."

"Does she love this man?"

"I don't know. I shouldn't be surprised. She hasn't told me so."

"Probably she doesn't, as he's single. Nan's so perverse. She will love
the wrong men, always."

"You shouldn't believe all Rosalind tells you, mother. Rosalind has a too
vivid fancy and a scandalous tongue."

Mrs. Hilary coloured a little. She did not like Neville to think that she
had been letting Rosalind gossip to her about Nan.

"You know perfectly well, Neville, that I never trust a word Rosalind
says. I suppose I needn't rely on my daughter-in-law for news about my
own daughter's affairs. I can see things for myself. You can't deny that
Nan _has_ had compromising affairs with married men."

"Compromising." Neville turned over the word, thoughtfully and
fastidiously. "Funny word, mother. I'm not sure I know what it means.
But I don't think anything ever compromises Nan; she's too free for
that.... Well, let's marry her off to Barry Briscoe. It will be a quaint