our race. But they played it with unusual vigour, stating
in so many words that Schlegels were better than Wilcoxes,
Wilcoxes better than Schlegels. They flung decency aside.
The man was young, the woman deeply stirred; in both a vein
of coarseness was latent. Their quarrel was no more
surprising than are most quarrels--inevitable at the time,
incredible afterwards. But it was more than usually
futile. A few minutes, and they were enlightened. The
motor drew up at Howards End, and Helen, looking very pale,
ran out to meet her aunt.

"Aunt Juley, I have just had a telegram from Margaret;
I--I meant to stop your coming. It isn't--it's over."

The climax was too much for Mrs. Munt. She burst into tears.

"Aunt Juley dear, don't. Don't let them know I've been
so silly. It wasn't anything. Do bear up for my sake."

"Paul," cried Charles Wilcox, pulling his gloves off.

"Don't let them know. They are never to know."

"Oh, my darling Helen--"

"Paul! Paul!"

A very young man came out of the house.

"Paul, is there any truth in this?"