Elise, who had stood in mute contemplation of her brother, neither addressing a remark nor being addressed, hesitated momentarily, then went into the drawing-room by herself and closed the door.
'Oh, Mr. Selwyn,' said Lady Durwent, breathing heavily, 'you have no idea what a mother's feelings are at a time like this.'
'I can only sympathise most sincerely,' said the American gravely.
'He has been such a good boy,' she said vaguely, 'and so devoted to his mother.'
'I can see that, Lady Durwent.'
'I shall never forget,' she went on, her own words creating a deliciously dramatic trembling in her bosom, 'how he wept when his father insisted upon his leaving home for school. It was all I could do to console the child; and when he came home for the holidays he was just my shadow.'
At that satisfactory thought (though Selwyn was a little puzzled at the picture of the diminutive Malcolm serving as a shadow for Lady Durwent's bulk) she expanded into a smile, but immediately corrected the error with a burst of unrestrained grief.
'THINK OF IT, MR. SELWYN,' she cried, reversing the formula—'WE ARE AT
WAR!'
He murmured assent. 'I am afraid, Lady Durwent,' he said, 'that I must return to London this afternoon.'
'Oh, Mr. Selwyn!'