Taking his cigar from his lips, he looked at her sidewise. His expression said, "What's it going to be now?"
"What I've heard you telling Edith about this young Follett killing a detective concerns us more closely than you may think, because Bob is married to his sister."
He laid his cigar on an ash tray, swung round to the table between them, clasped his fingers, and leaned on his outstretched elbows. His tone was quiet, even casual.
"When did he do that?"
"Just before he sailed."
"Then I'm through with him."
"Oh no, you're not, Bradley! He's your son, whether he's married anyone or not."
"I can't help his being my son; but I can help having anything more to do with him."
"Listen, Bradley. This whole thing is going to be in the papers in the course of two or three days; and you must come through it with honors. It's perfectly simple to do it, and win everyone's respect and sympathy. In addition to that you can get Bob's devoted affection; and you know how much that means to us all."
To Collingham it meant so much that he listened to her attentively, with eager eyes. In Bob's marriage, with its attendant circumstances, they had obviously received a shock. All Marillo Park, as well as the public in general, would know it to be a shock and would be watching to see how they took it. In that case, the best thing was the sporting thing. They must stand right up to the facts and accept them. Everyone knew that the younger generation was peculiar. It was the war, Junia supposed, and yet she didn't know. In any case, it was not the Collinghams alone who were so afflicted, but dotted all over Marillo were families whose young ones were acting strangely. There were the Rumseys, whose twin sons had refused an uncle's legacy amounting to something like three millions, because they held views opposed to the owning of private property. There were the Addingtons, whose son and heir had married a girl twice imprisoned as a Red and was believed to have gone Red in her company. There were the Bendlingers, whose daughter had eloped with a chauffeur, divorced him, and then gone back and married him again. These were Marillo incidents, and in no case had the parents found any course more original than the antiquated one of discarding and disinheritance. And yet you couldn't wash your hands of your flesh and blood like that. They were your flesh and blood whatever they did; and it was idiotic to act as if you could cut the tie between yourself and them. He could see for himself that Rumseys, Addingtons, and Bendlingers had lost rather than gained in general esteem by their melodramatic poses.