“He will come back to you if you will wait for him,” the mother pleaded. The language of the letter was outside her comprehension, but she thought she knew what was in Alistair’s heart. “He has drawn back because he is afraid he cannot make you a good husband. But he has not really given you up.”
“I have not given him up, at all events,” Hero said quietly.
The Duchess felt greatly comforted. Only her old misgiving came back to her.
“Suppose he means to marry that woman?” she whispered.
“Then I shall look upon his wife as my sister. I shall try to make a friend of her for his sake, and I think I shall succeed. After all, perhaps I have no right to take her place.”
The mother was daunted by this answer. She could not bear to admit that Molly Finucane had any rights where Alistair was concerned. She would have liked to see Hero more jealous.
The news of the marriage reached them only through the newspaper. Alistair had thought it would be affectation to try to soften the blow.
It was a dreadful blow to the Duchess, though she had seen it coming. She sank under it, and aged visibly. Hero tried in vain to administer consolation.
“I think Alistair has acted nobly,” she declared. “I am proud of him. And I should be proud of myself if I thought he had done it to please me.”
The poor Duchess began to fear that Hero, instead of an ally, was going to prove a traitor. She could see in her son’s action nothing but desperation. She had her own settled view as to what would constitute happiness for her boy, and she wanted to see him happy.