"He has not been very steady of late," Brian went on slowly, wondering whether he was right to conceal Hugo's misdeeds and evil tendencies. "I hope he will improve; you will have patience with him if he is not very wise. And now, will you let me say good-bye to you? I shall leave Netherglen to-morrow."
"To-morrow?" said Angela, wonderingly. "Why should you go so soon?"
"It is better so," Brian answered.
"But we shall know where you are. You will write?"
His eyes sought his mother's face. She would not look at him. He spoke in an unnaturally quiet voice, "I do not know."
"Mother, will you not tell him to write to you?" said Angela.
The mother sat silent, unresponsive. It was plain that she cared for no letter from this son of hers.
"I will leave my address with Mr. Colquhoun, Angela," said Brian, forcing a slight, sad smile. "If there is business for me to transact, he will be able to let me know. I shall hear from him how you all are, from time to time."
"Will you not write to me, then?" said Angela.
Brian darted an inquiring glance at her. Oh, what divine pity, what sublime forgetfulness of self, gleamed out of those tender, tear-reddened eyes!