oded.

Urquhart had passed on. Hilary said, "What's the matter with _you_?" and
Peter recovered himself and said "Nothing." He might have cried, with
Miss Evelina Anvill, "Oh, my dear sir, I am shocked to death!" He did
not. He did not even say, "Why did you stamp us like that?" He would not
for the world have hurt Hilary's feelings, and vaguely he knew that this
splendid, unusual half-brother of his was in some ways a sensitive
person.

Hilary said, "The Urquharts ought to invite you to stay. The connection
is really close. I believe your mother was devoted to that boy as a baby.
You'd like to go and stay there, wouldn't you?"

Peter looked doubtful. He was nervous. Suppose Hilary met Urquhart
again.... Dire possibilities opened. Next time it might be "Peter must go
and stay at _your_ uncle's place in Berkshire." That would be worse. Yes,
the worst had not happened, after all. Urquhart might have met Peggy.
Peggy would in that case have said, "You nice kind boy, you've been such
a dear to this little brother of ours, and I hear you and these boys used
to share a mamma, so you're really brothers, and so, of course, _my_
brother too; and _what_ a nice face you've got!" There were in fact,
no limits to what Peggy might say. Peggy was outrageous. But it was
surprising how much one could bear from her. Presumably, Peter used to
reflect in after years, when he had to bear from her a very great deal
indeed, it was simply by virtue of her being Peggy. It was the same with
Hilary. They were Hilary and Peggy, and one took them as such. Indeed,
one had to, as there was certainly no altering them. And Peter loved both
of them very much indeed.

When Peter went home for the holidays, he found that Hilary's alliance
with the woman Peggy Callaghan was not smiled upon. But then none of
Hilary's projects were ever smiled upon by his uncle, who always said,
"Hilary must do as he likes. But he is acting with his usual lack of
judgment." For four years he had been saying so, and he said it again
now. To Hilary himself he further said, "You can't afford a wife at all.
You certainly can't afford Miss Callaghan. You have no right whatever to
marry until you are earning a settled livelihood. You are not of the
temperament to make any woman consistently happy. Miss Callaghan is the
daughter of an Irish doctor, and a Catholic."

"It is," said Hilary, "the most beautiful of all the religions. If
I could bring myself under the yoke of any cr