"Why did you tell him?"
"Because—it was only right—it was only fair."
Janet gazed at her, eyes softened with a gentle admiration.
"Do you remember what you told me about your father?" she said.
"Yes, why?"
"I expect you must he very like him. Only, instead of being a slave to a Church, you're a slave to your heart. You're just as much the type of woman whom the world wants and treats damned badly—I don't care if I do swear—as he was the type of man whom an institution like the Church of England requires—and treats damned badly too. I guess you're exactly like your father."
"That's what mother said; but she didn't put it in that way. She said I was a fool—like father was."
"Hum!" said Janet, and picked up her brush again. For a time she worked in silence, eyes strained to the fine lines, breath held in to steady her hand, then liberated with a sudden grunting sound.
"Would you have married the man?" she asked presently.
"Yes."