And Shelton knew that from day's end to end, and even in their bed, these would be the subjects of their conversation.

They were the best-bred people of the sort he met in country houses and accepted as of course, with a vague discomfort at the bottom of his soul.

Antonia's home, for instance, had been full of them.

They were the best-bred people of the sort who supported charities, knew everybody, had clear, calm judgment, and intolerance of all such conduct as seemed to them "impossible," all breaches of morality, such as mistakes of etiquette, such as dishonesty, passion, sympathy (except with a canonised class of objects--the legitimate sufferings, for instance, of their own families and class).

How healthy they were! The memory of the doss-house worked in Shelton's mind like poison.