"No. But perhaps Catty's mother thinks she is."
She thought: She is afraid.
"Do you suppose," her mother said, "it's any pleasure to me to find fault with my only daughter? If you weren't my only daughter, perhaps I shouldn't find fault."
Her new self answered again, implacable in its lucidity. "You mean, if you'd had a girl you could do what you liked with you'd have let me alone? You'd have let me alone if you could have done what you liked with Mark?"
She noticed, as if it had a separate and significant existence, her mother's hand lying on the green cover of the Greek Anthology.
"If you were like Mark—if you were only like him!"
"If I only were!"
"Mark never hurt me. Mark never gave me a minute's trouble in his life."
"He went into the Army."
"He had a perfect right to go into the Army."