d--she's a helpless
sort of little creature, and she seems to have put herself under my
protection. I can't help that. But that's all. Do you understand?"
This speech produced a queer turmoil in Stephen, as though his brother
had accused him of a petty view of things. Feeling that he must justify
himself somehow, he began:
"Oh, of course I understand, old boy! But don't think, anyway, that I
should care a damn--I mean as far as I'm concerned--even if you had gone
as far as ever you liked, considering what you have to put up with. What
I'm thinking of is the general situation."
By this clear statement of his point of view Stephen felt he had put
things back on a broad basis, and recovered his position as a man of
liberal thought. He too leaned over, looking at the ducks. There was a
silence. Then Hilary said:
"If Bianca won't get that child into some fresh place, I shall."
Stephen looked at his brother in surprise, amounting almost to dismay; he
had spoken with such unwonted resolution.
"My dear old chap," he said, "I wouldn't go to B. Women are so funny."
Hilary smiled. Stephen took this for a sign of restored impersonality.
"I'll tell you exactly how the thing appeals to me. It'll be much better
for you to chuck it altogether. Let Cis see to it!"
Hilary's eyes became bright with angry humour.
"Many thanks," he said, "but this is entirely our affair."
Stephen answered hastily:
"That's exactly what makes it difficult for you to look at it all round.
That fellow Hughs could make himself quite nasty. I wouldn't give him
any sort of chance. I mean to say--giving the girl clothes and that kind
of thing---"
"I see," said Hilary.
"You know, old man," Stephen went on hastily, "I don't think you'll get
Bianca to look at things in your light. If you were on--on terms, of
course it would be different. I mean the girl, you know, is rather
attractive in her way."
Hilary roused himself from contemplation of the ducks, and they moved on
towards the Powder Magazine. Stephen carefully abstained from looking at
his brother; the respect he had for Hilary--result, perhaps, of the
latter's seniority, perhaps of the feeling that Hilary knew more of him
than he of Hilary--was beginning to assert itself in a way he did not
like. With every word, too, of this talk, the ground, instead of growing
firmer, felt less and less secure. Hilary spoke:
"You mistrust my powers of action?"
"No, no,"
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