“I could let you have a little, dear, and James, I know, will let you have as much as you want, as long as he knows that it won’t be spent”—she hesitated an instant—“in bad ways.”
Alistair scowled.
“What business is it of his how I spend my money?”
His mother raised her hand with a certain quiet dignity.
“It is my business, at all events, to know what kind of life my boy is living, and to sorrow when I know that he is living in open sin and shame.”
To this speech Alistair made no answer. He could have made none that would not have added to his mother’s pain.
“How much do you want?” the Duchess asked presently in a weary tone. It was not the first conversation between them that had ended at the same point.
The young man started up.
“Look here, mother, I didn’t come here to ask for money; I’m past that now. It doesn’t matter to me whether I stay in London or go abroad. Trent can decide for himself about that. Anyway, I must go under for a time, I suppose, and I don’t much care if I ever come up again. I was out on Westminster Bridge just now, wondering whether it wouldn’t be the easiest way to drop over, and put an end to it all; and then I thought of you, and felt sorry for your sake more than my own; and so I made up my mind to come and see you—and here I am.”
The poor lady shook a good deal as she listened to this speech; and, remembering her prayer just before Alistair came in, she breathed a silent thanksgiving, and the tears came back into her eyes.