The girl's head was flung up. Boredom and indifference passed out of the strange eyes. For an instant the conflict of wills seemed about to break out into mutual challenge. It was Edith who first regained enough mastery of self to say, quietly.
"You surely wouldn't take that responsibility—whatever I did."
The soft answer having warned the mother of the danger of collision, she subsided to an easier, if a more fretful, tone.
"And Bob's such a worry, too. If your father knew about this Follett girl, I think he would go wild."
"But we don't know anything ourselves—beyond the few hints dropped by Hubert Wray which I'm sure he didn't mean."
"Well, I'm worried. It's the war, I suppose. If he'd only settle down to work—"
"He won't settle down till he marries; and if he marries, it will have to be some girl he's in love with."
"If he were to marry a girl of that class—"
"Girl of what class? What's the good word?"
Mrs. Collingham turned on her son, who stood on the threshold of one of the French windows.