t your father is so much bothered now;
perhaps you will have a room which is a little larger, but I really do
not know. I cannot say anything: how can you _expect_ me to say anything
just at present, my dear child?"

Again there was the same contradiction. Mrs. Furze knew this was wrong,
but she believed it was right. There was, however, a slight balance in
favour of what she knew against what she believed, and she hastened to
appease her conscience by a mental promise that, as soon as possible, she
would tell Catharine that, upon full consideration, they had determined,
&c., &c. That would put everything straight morally. Had Catharine put
her question yesterday--so Mrs. Furze argued--the answer now given would
have been perfectly right. She was doing nothing more than giving a
reply which was a trifle in arrear of the facts, and, if she rectified it
at the earliest date, the impropriety would be nothing. It is sometimes
thought that it is those who habitually speak the truth who are most
easily deceived. It is not quite so. If the deceivers are not entirely
deceived, they profess acquiescence, and perpetual acquiescence induces
half-deception. It is, perhaps, more correct to say that the word
deception has no particular meaning for them, and implies a standard
which is altogether inapplicable. There is a tacit agreement through all
society to say things which nobody believes, and that being the
constitution under which we live, it is absurd to talk of truth or
falsity in the strict sense of the terms. A thing is true when it is in
accordance with the system and on a level with it, and false when it is
below it. Every now and then at rarest intervals a creature is
introduced to us who speaks the veritable reality and wakes in us the
slumbering conviction of universal imposture. We know that he is not as
other men are; we look into his eyes and see that they penetrate us
through and through, but we cannot help ourselves, and we jabber to him
as we jabber to the rest of the world. It was ridiculous that her mother
should talk as she did to Catharine. Mrs. Furze was perfectly aware that
she was not deluding her daughter; but she assumed that the delusion was
complete.

"Well, mother, I say I cannot go to Ely."

Catharine again had her own way. She went to Mrs. Bellamy's, and Mrs.
Furze, after having told Mrs. Bellamy what was going to happen, begged
her not to say anything to Catharine about it.