"I haven't changed," said Mary proudly.
"Yes, you have, but you don't want to admit it. You think there are higher things than being in love. You seem to think of marriage as a serious responsibility, a—sort of discipline."
"Isn't it?" she asked.
"Well, that isn't the way to go into it! Confound it, I tell you you had better not!"
He glared at her over his spectacles, then put out his hand and drew her toward him.
"What a child you are, Mary—with your airs of being a hundred and fifty!... I don't think you understand anything. The basis of marriage is physical, if that isn't right nothing is right—you want to think of that, Mary. It's flesh and spirit, but both, not divided. If your imagination is drawn away from Laurence to what you think are spiritual things, then you oughtn't to marry—or you ought to marry Hilary."
Mary stood like a stone—her fingers turned cold in his grasp. He saw the tears flood her eyes, and got up and led her to the door, and dismissed her with a kiss on her cold cheek.