“No doubt—to expend in dress and such things. Not for the support of his unknown grandchild. You would be taking his money under false pretences. Your father pays for his daughter’s expenses; I pay for my son’s expenses.”
“And I may not?”
“No.” He shook his head curtly.
“But I am his mother!” she said excitedly.
“I thought you had forgotten that! Now, look here, Maddie, I am not going to be put off with words any longer! You cannot run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. You must come home at once. Tell your father the truth, or let me tell him the truth, and make your choice once for all. This double life, where all of it is spent in one sphere, and only the shadow falls on the other, won’t do. Think of your child”—with rising heat—“growing up a stranger to you! Poor chap! he believes that Mrs. Holt is his mother. I—I try and see him; but what good am I? I’m only a man, and not much of a hand with small children. Madeline, this cursed money has poisoned your mind! Admiration has turned your head. You are no more what you once were——”
“Don’t say it, Laurence!” she cried, springing up and laying her head on his mouth. “I have been waiting, waiting, waiting, trying to bring my courage to the sticking-point, and hoping to bring you and my father quietly together. I see I have been wrong. I—I will tell him to-morrow—yes, there is my hand on it; and if he turns me out, as is most probable, I shall be sitting here making your tea to-morrow evening! You believe me, Laurence?” standing over him as he leant his head in his hand, and looked into the fire.
“There have been so many to-morrows, Maddie. I’m like the man in the fable about the boy and the wolves; but”—suddenly pulling himself together, and confronting her—“I will believe that this time it really is wolf.” Standing up and looking at her, he added, “I will believe you, and trust you. And now”—ringing the bell as he spoke—“you shall have your coffee, and I am going to take you home in a hansom.”
“Home! It’s too early yet—ten past nine. Take me to the theatre for an hour. Take me to the Haymarket; it will be such fun!”
“Fun!” he echoed impatiently. “Supposing any one was to see you—any of your friends—what would they think? They do not know that I am your husband; they would only take me for some admirer, who, presuming on your father’s absence, had escorted you to the theatre, under the rose—that would be capital fun!”
“What harm would it be? I like puzzling people. I like to give them something to talk about,” she answered recklessly.