marriage is impossible. I don't know where you found her again, and I
don't care. It wouldn't make the slightest difference to me what she had
been, if I thought she had a chance of ever being anything else. But,
Michael, she's flabby. You'll hate me for saying so, but she is, she
really is! In a year you'll admit that; you'll see her growing older and
flabbier, more and more vain; emptier and emptier, if that's possible.
Even her beauty won't last. These very fair girls fall to pieces like
moth-eaten dolls. I've tried to find something in her during this
fortnight. I've tried and tried; but there's nothing. You may be in love
with her now, though I don't believe you are. I think it's all a piece
of sentimentalism. I've often teased you about getting married, but
please don't suppose that I haven't realized how almost impossible it
would be, ever to find a woman that would stand the wear and tear of
your idealism. I'm prepared to bet that behind your determination to
marry this girl there's a reason, a lovely, unpractical, idealistic
reason. Isn't there? You've been away with her for a week-end, and have
tortured yourself into a theory of reparation. Is that it? Or you've
fallen in love with the notion of yourself in love at eighteen. Oh, you
can't marry her, you foolish old darling."

"Your oratory would be more effective if you wouldn't keep whistling to
that infernal dog," said Michael. "If this marriage is so terrible, I
should have thought you'd have forgotten there were such animals as
cocker-spaniels. It's rubbish for you to say you've tried to find
something in Lily. You haven't made the slightest attempt. You've
criticized her from the moment she entered the house. You're sunk deep
already in the horrible selfishness of being happy. A happy marriage is
the most devastating joint egotism in the world. Damn it, Stella, when
you were making a fool of yourself with half the men in Europe, I
didn't talk as you've been talking to me."

"No, you were always very cautiously fraternal," said Stella. "Ah, no, I
won't say bitter things, for, Michael, I adore you; and you'll break my
heart if you marry this girl."

"You won't do anything of the kind," he contradicted. "You'll be
whistling to spaniels all the time."

"Michael, it's really unkind of you to try and make me laugh, when I'm
feeling so wretched about you."

"It's all fine for you to sneer at Lily," said Michael. "But I can
remember your coming back from V