"And now, my dear child," said Mrs. Forrester, when the Lippheims had departed and she and Karen were alone and seated side by side on the sofa, "we must talk. I have come, of course you know, to talk about this miserable affair." She put her hand on Karen's; but already something in the girl's demeanour renewed her first displeasure. She looked heavy, she looked phlegmatic; there was no response, no softness in her glance.
"You have perhaps a message to me, Mrs. Forrester, from Tante," she said.
"No, Karen, no," Mrs. Forrester with irrepressible severity returned. "I have no message for you. Any message, I think should come from your husband and not from your guardian."
Karen sat silent, her eyes moving away from her visitor's face and fixing themselves on the wall above her head.
The impulse that had brought Mrs. Forrester was suffering alterations.
Gregory had revealed the case to her as worse than she had supposed; Karen emphasized the revelation. And what of Mercedes between these two young egoists? "I must ask you, Karen," she said, "whether you realise how Gregory has behaved, to the woman to whom you, and he, owe so much?"
Karen continued to look fixedly at the wall and after a moment of deliberation replied: "Tante did not speak rightly to Gregory, Mrs. Forrester. She lost her temper very much. You know that Tante can lose her temper."
Mrs. Forrester, at this, almost lost hers. "You surprise me, Karen. Your husband had spoken insultingly of her friends—and yours—to her. Why attempt to shield him? I heard the whole story, in detail, from your guardian, you must remember."
Again Karen withdrew into a considering silence; but, though her face remained impassive, Mrs. Forrester observed that a slight flush rose to her cheeks.
"Gregory did not intend Tante to overhear what he said," she produced at last. "It was said to me—and I had questioned him—not to her. Tante came in by chance. It is not likely, Mrs. Forrester, that my version would differ in any way from hers."