It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. Your aunt liked the pheasant. She became more and more alive, not so much to a system of ideas as to a big diffused impulse toward change, to a great discontent with and criticism of life as it is lived, to a clamorous confusion of ideas for reconstruction—reconstruction of the methods of business, of economic development, of the rules of property, of the status of children, of the clothing and feeding and teaching of every one; she developed a quite exaggerated consciousness of a multitude of people going about the swarming spaces of London with their minds full, their talk and gestures full, their very clothing charged with the suggestion of the urgency of this pervasive project of alteration. . He reached a silver cigar and cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both. ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. One morning he caught her hand suddenly and kissed it. ‘How did you know that Mary was his daughter?’ Gerald hesitated. ‘Didn’t mean it, love.
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