Edgar looked at his watch.
"I oughtn't to stay," he said. "Fill my cup first. I shall be listening."
"What's a man's feeling about a girl?" Edgar waited. "I mean, about things she does."
"What things?"
"Reckless things. Silly things. I expect men feel different things—and different things about different girls—and different things about different girls at different times. But what I mean is this. All girls except me have very much more liberty than they used to do.—Well, even me, then; but they use their freedom differently. They go about freely, and so on. Don't they? Well, they do silly things—compromise themselves."
"I should think it's harder to do that now than it used to be."
"It's very funny—I don't think it is, somehow. It's all a convention. You can do certain things; but not others. It's odd. But that's not what I wanted to ask you. What I meant was—if somebody had been silly—had, we'll say, gone off with a man, found she didn't care for him, left him.... How would you feel about ... about marrying her?"
"You alarm me!" cried Edgar, still a little amused, but with a constriction of the heart. And then, for a moment, it crossed his mind that she might even be hinting at something which he dared not contemplate. His mind went straight to Harry, to the meeting.... He was conscious of a cold sweat. The thing was so monstrous, and the feeling it aroused in him so passionate, that he did not understand until he had recovered composure what it was further that Claudia was saying.
"That is how you feel?" Claudia was persisting. "You do feel ... well, horror?"