The important uncle, who called Mary, "My dear lady," told her that she looked thoroughly worn out.
At last the moment came when she was to bid Rosemary good-bye. As she kissed her, Mary felt an impulse to throw her arms round Rosemary, to hold her fast, to defy them all—it seemed impossible that she should go away like this, while everybody laughed and looked curious and pleased. But even while the thought was in her mind she found that she had let the child go, that Rosemary was kissing James. "Of course—he's her father," Mary said to herself.—A moment later Rosemary was gone.
Then Mary had to say good-bye to her guests, to thank them for having put on their best clothes and made their well-meant noises. They all decided, and told her so, that she needed a rest and a change—weddings are trying affairs. Finally, last of all, Harry and Laura said they must get back to Giles.
"Do lie down, mother dear," Laura said, "and we'll see you and father at dinner later."
Mary had forgotten that they were dining with Laura—it seemed now a very good opportunity for separating herself from James. She didn't think that she would come after all, she told them, she would probably go to bed early. But James would come.
James assented. It seemed to him, too, an excellent idea.
For a moment they all stood at the door, looking at the disordered room. The floor was littered with the pink petals of the florist's roses, and on a chair lay a white fur scarf that some woman had forgotten.
"I'll come round to-morrow and help you cut up the cake," Laura told Mary, kissing her.
Harry shrugged his shoulders. "What we want in weddings," he said, "is a little decent grossness!"
Laura turned to him. "Come, Harry, I can see that mother is exhausted—" As they went, James on their heels, Mary laughed. Harry knew that he was the captor, right enough.