Mrs. Pope found her husband seated at the desk in the ultra-Protestant study, meditating gloomily.
"I've been talking to her," she said, "She's in a state of terrible distress."
"She ought to be," said Mr. Pope.
"Philip, you don't understand Marjorie."
"I don't."
"You think she was kissing that man."
"Well, she was."
"You can think that of her!"
Mr. Pope turned his chair to her. "But I saw!"
Mrs. Pope shook her head. "She wasn't; she was struggling to get away from him. She told me so herself. I've been into it with her. You don't understand, Philip. A man like that has a sort of fascination for a girl. He dazzles her. It's the way with girls. But you're quite mistaken.... Quite. It's a sort of hypnotism. She'll grow out of it. Of course, she loves Mr. Magnet. She does indeed. I've not a doubt of it. But——"