"The present-day woman is very proud of her complex life," he said smoothly, "her big card debts and her little intrigues."
Gore's healthy face turned a shade redder.
"I know!" he said tersely. "But to me, a woman with no higher ambition than the playing of cards winter and summer, afternoon after afternoon, is—is pitiable."
Clodagh leant forward.
"Perhaps they play cards because they have no real interests."
He looked at her quickly.
"And why have they no real interests, Mrs. Milbanke? Isn't it because they reject all simple, natural, wholesome things? Such women do not know the meaning of the word home. They do not want a home—or home life, as the women of the last generation understood it."
"Ah, there you touch bottom, my dear Gore! There you are in your depth!" Again Barnard gave one of his smooth, tactful laughs. "This young man has a great pull over us, Mrs. Milbanke, when he compares the present generation with the past."
At the suave words, Gore made a slightly embarrassed gesture, and looked instinctively towards Milbanke.
"Forgive my tirade, sir!" he said a little confusedly. "Mr. Barnard is right. I have rather a high ideal of womanhood. I am possessed of a—a very remarkable mother."