"That must depend," Emily had said, with a little shake of her head.
There had been a suggestion that the child should be with her, but the mother herself had rejected this.
"It would be stagey," she had said, "and clap-trap. There is nothing I hate so much as that."
She was sitting, therefore, quite alone, and as stiff as a man in armour, when Lady Milborough was shown up to her.
And Lady Milborough herself was not at all comfortable as she commenced the interview. She had prepared many wise words to be spoken, but was not so little ignorant of the character of the woman with whom she had to deal, as to suppose that the wise words would get themselves spoken without interruption. She had known from the first that Mrs. Trevelyan would have much to say for herself, and the feeling that it would be so became stronger than ever as she entered the room. The ordinary feelings between the two ladies were cold and constrained, and then there was silence for a few moments when the Countess had taken her seat. Mrs. Trevelyan had quite determined that the enemy should fire the first shot.
"This is a very sad state of things," said the Countess.
"Yes, indeed, Lady Milborough."
"The saddest in the world;—and so unnecessary;—is it not?"
"Very unnecessary, indeed, as I think."
"Yes, my dear, yes. But, of course, we must remember—"