g
you the (I very nearly said: imbecility, but checked myself in time)
innocence of Captain Anthony, don't you think now, frankly, that there
is a little of your own fault in what has happened. `You bring them
together, you leave your brother to himself!'

"She sat up and leaning her elbow on the table sustained her head in her
open palm casting down her eyes. Compunction? It was indeed a very
off-hand way of treating a brother come to stay for the first time in
fifteen years. I suppose she discovered very soon that she had nothing
in common with that sailor, that stranger, fashioned and marked by the
sea of long voyages. In her strong-minded way she had scorned
pretences, had gone to her writing which interested her immensely. A
very praiseworthy thing your sincere conduct,--if it didn't at times
resemble brutality so much. But I don't think it was compunction. That
sentiment is rare in women..."

"Is it?" I interrupted indignantly.

"You know more women than I do," retorted the unabashed Marlow. "You
make it your business to know them--don't you? You go about a lot
amongst all sorts of people. You are a tolerably honest observer.
Well, just try to remember how many instances of compunction you have
seen. I am ready to take your bare word for it. Compunction! Have you
ever seen as much as its shadow? Have you ever? Just a shadow--a
passing shadow! I tell you it is so rare that you may call it
non-existent. They are too passionate. Too pedantic. Too courageous
with themselves--perhaps. No I don't think for a moment that Mrs Fyne
felt the slightest compunction at her treatment of her sea-going
brother. What _he_ thought of it who can tell? It is possible that he
wondered why he had been so insistently urged to come. It is possible
that he wondered bitterly--or contemptuously--or humbly. And it may be
that he was only surprised and bored. Had he been as sincere in his
conduct as his only sister he would have probably taken himself off at
the end of the second day. But perhaps he was afraid of appearing
brutal. I am not far removed from the conviction that between the
sincerities of his sister and of his dear nieces, Captain Anthony of the
_Ferndale_ must have had his loneliness brought home to his bosom for
the first time of his life, at an age, thirty-five or thereabouts, when
one is mature, enough to feel the pang of such a discovery. Angry or
simply sad but certainly disillusioned he wa