Mr. Stone's face was discoloured by a flush. “You have no children,” he said painfully; “do you live together?”
Hilary shook his head.
“You are estranged?” said Mr. Stone.
Hilary bowed. There was a long silence. Mr. Stone's eyes had travelled to the window.
“Without love there cannot be life,” he said at last; and fixing his wistful gaze on Hilary, asked: “Does she love another?”
Again Hilary shook his head.
When Mr. Stone next spoke it was clearly to himself.
“I do not know why I am glad. Do you love another?”
At this question Hilary's eyebrows settled in a frown. “What do you mean by love?” he said.
Mr. Stone did not reply; it was evident that he was reflecting deeply. His lips began to move: “By love I mean the forgetfulness of self. Unions are frequent in which only the sexual instincts, or the remembrance of self, are roused—-”