He does nothing, never will do anything. He has no will or purpose in
life, except about trifles like this hunting-trip. As far as I can see he
is without common sense."

Christine stood by the dressing-table pleating the cover-frilling with her
small fingers that were loaded with rings. She pinched the folds hard and
let them go. "Why did no one ever say these things before?"

"We don't say things about the sons of our friends, unless we are
compelled to. They were implied in every way possible. When have I asked
Banks Bowen to the house except when everybody was asked! I would never in
the world have come out in Mr. Borland's car if I had known the Bowens
were to be of the party."

"That made no difference," said Christine loftily.

"It was all settled before then, was it?"

"Have I said it was settled, mother? He asked me if I could ever care for
him; and I said that I did--a little. Why shouldn't I? He does what I like
a man to do. I don't enjoy people who have wills and purposes. It may be
very horrid of me, but I wouldn't be in Moya's place for worlds."

"You poor child! You poor, unhappy child!"

"Why am I unhappy? Has Paul added so much to our income since he left
college?"

"Paul does not make money; neither does he selfishly waste it. He has a
conscience in his use of what he has."