“But it's absurd at his time of life!”
“Perhaps that makes him feel it more; people do miss things when they are old!”
Stephen slid the drawer back into its socket. There was dry decision in that gesture.
“Look here! Let's exercise a little common sense; it's been sacrificed to sentiment all through this wretched business. One wants to be kind, of course; but one's got to draw the line.”
“Ah!” said Cecilia; “where?”
“The thing,” went on Stephen, “has been a mistake from first to last. It's all very well up to a certain point, but after that it becomes destructive of all comfort. It doesn't do to let these people come into personal contact with you. There are the proper channels for that sort of thing.”
Cecilia's eyes were lowered, as though she did not dare to let him see her thoughts.
“It seems so horrid,” she said; “and father is not like other people.”
“He is not,” said Stephen dryly; “we had a pretty good instance of that this evening. But Hilary and your sister are. There's something most distasteful to me, too, about Thyme's going about slumming. You see what she's been let in for this afternoon. The notion of that baby being killed through the man's treatment of his wife, and that, no doubt, arising from the girl's leaving them, is most repulsive!”
To these words Cecilia answered with a sound almost like a gasp. “I hadn't thought of that. Then we're responsible; it was we who advised Hilary to make her change her lodging.”