After a pause of extremely uncomfortable consideration, Sir Julian observed, with a sententiousness of which he was perfectly aware:
"If such is unfortunately the case, why should you blame yourself?"
"Because I did everything I could to make it happen. I saw they liked each other, ages ago—oh, long before Christmas! and I had her to dinner and things, and made her sing 'Annie Laurie' because Mark admired her voice, and I told him how she said she liked working at the College with him."
"But why, in Heaven's name?"
"Because," sobbed Iris, "I thought it would be such a beautiful thing for them to defy conventionality and be happy in spite of everything—a grande passion—you know...."
The extreme perversion of the point of view thus disclosed left Sir Julian, at no time eloquent, more completely deprived of utterance than ever before.
"In those days," Iris continued, with an effect of great remoteness in her manner, "I thoroughly and completely believed in Free Love myself. Of course, I was younger, then."
"Only by two months," Sir Julian gloomily reminded her.
"Oh, yes, but those two months have taught me everything. Love is such a wonderful teacher. Ever since I've been engaged to Douglas, it's been like a new heaven and a new earth, and I can see things that I never saw before."
She began to dab at her eyes with her handkerchief, while Sir Julian thought of a great many observations which it was extremely improbable that he would make aloud.