That was the glorious if bewildering truth. He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete. Her aunt did not object to capital punishment or war, or the industrial system or casual wards, or flogging of criminals or the Congo Free State, because none of these things really got hold of her imagination; but she did object, she did not like, she could not bear to think of people not having and enjoying their meals. The moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day. “It couldn’t be. Nobody regards Constance or Vee as a delicate trifle.
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