"No, no, no. But I want to talk to him, to find out how he is living—in short, to satisfy the family about him. It's really dreadful, you know, for a mere boy of his inexperience to be turned loose in New York."
"He's working! And he's treated with more consideration than he was at home. I hope you don't mind my saying that. You know yourself that Finch was not always treated fairly."
Ernest remained invincibly placid. "My dear girl, I don't believe you understand us. Our family circle is very closely knit."
"I do understand! It's so closely knit that you won't let one of your number escape. You want to reach out and drag him back again. I know I'm being awfully rude, but I cannot help it. It is the way I've always felt about your family."
"We didn't reach out after Eden."
"You knew it was no use. You couldn't control Eden. And you had no inkling as to where he was."
Ernest regarded her with curiosity. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"
"What is it?"
"Have you seen Eden since you came back?"
"No, I have not. I suppose I shall never see him again. I don't want to."
"I'm very sure you don't. You suffered too much because of him." Ernest was relieved that he had successfully switched the conversation into a more sympathetic channel. He laid his long white hand on hers and gently pressed it. She experienced a sudden warmth and sense of security in being treated with affection by a much older person. It was nice, and he was nice—she had forgotten how nice, how kind. She had forgotten, too, how distinguished his appearance, and how agreeable to the ear his voice. Really, he was a dear, and she must not be too hard on him. He was less to blame than the others for the tyranny of Jalna.
He exclaimed in admiration at the compactness, the charm of the apartment. She led him about, showing him all the trig electrical devices. They delighted him.
