"Do you think it is such a horrid book, Aunt Caroline?"
"It isn't an improving book—no one pretends that it is; but it is very smart. And I cannot see that you, of all people, have any right to blame Paul Seaton for writing it. If it amuses you to break men's hearts, my dear, by all means do it; but do not cry out if the smash makes more dust and noise than you expected. Breakages are often noisy, from tea-things upwards."
"But Paul never was flippant or cynical," persisted Isabel.
"Of course he was not till you made him so. As you know, I never liked Paul Seaton; but I am a just woman, and in this matter I cannot help saying that I consider you are more culpable than he. I am not blaming you, my dear child, for I should probably have done the same thing at your age; but if you have your fling you must be content to pay the bill."
Isabel sighed, and her aunt continued: "You deliberately broke the young man's heart and destroyed all his ideals; yet you are surprised when, in return, he tries to prove to the world that love is a fable and idealism a folly. It is simply the natural outcome of your action."
"Oh! Aunt Caroline, what shall I do?"
"Nothing. There is nothing to be done; it would have been more dignified, perhaps, had the man not cried out when he was hurt; still it is very human to cry out when our pain seems more than we can endure, and I feel I cannot blame him much. If any one had treated me as you have treated Paul Seaton, I think it is in me to write quite as bitter a book as Shams and Shadows, and probably I should have done so."
"But Paul was different."
Lady Farley smiled. "Different from me, you mean! My dear, you must remember that he was your lover and I am only your aunt, and you look at us through differently tinted spectacles. But human nature is pretty much the same in everybody, and when human nature is hit too hard, human nature hits back, either at its fellows, or at Providence, or at both. I admit that it was somewhat ill-bred of Mr. Seaton to abuse our hospitality by making 'copy' of our faults. Still if you objected to seeing the real nature of the Tartar, you should not have scratched the Russian so hard. Disappointment shows what stuff men are made of."
"I suppose it does," Isabel acquiesced.