“Yes, but on what grounds?” went on Mr. Waring with strange persistence.
“Have you ever spoken to Strange himself on the subject?” asked Mr. Fellowes.
“Ahem, no. In fact, under like circumstances,” he reddened and coughed a little, “I should myself have resented any attempt of such nature. No, I did not put any questions to Strange. But will you not favour us with an opinion, you, who know our daughter so well?”
“I think that, in a measure, Strange knows what he is about, and we are bound to trust his judgment. It would be folly to suppose that he sees the entire truth clearly, he is under the usual conditions of a man in love. Gwen dominates him as she does even us old married people, hearts and brains will always fall before our Gwen.”
“What is the entire truth?” said Mrs. Waring, pushing her hair back and sitting up.
“The truth as it strikes me,” said Mr. Fellowes very gently, “is, that Gwen is at present incapable of loving.”
“You refer—ahem, to that phase of the emotion known as sexual love?” said Mr. Waring hurriedly.
“Or of any other yet.”
“I knew it, we both knew it, but it was hard to speak out,” murmured Mrs. Waring sadly.
“She was in no way constrained,” said Mr. Waring in a frightened way.