"Mamma, dear, I have something to tell you, and I don't know how to say it."
Mrs. Arundel put her soft hand into his, and with the greatest tenderness said, "What is it, my dear boy?"
"Mamma, I have been on the verge of—of—being tempted into actual sin. Oh, mamma, I thought I was strong! But—but—I did not know there could be so much wickedness."
"My child," said Mrs. Arundel, in a whisper of terrible fear, "What is it? What has tempted you?"
"It is nothing particular, dear mamma; it has been things Frank has told me of—things they do and say on board ship. Till to-day, I hardly guessed that he was trying to undermine my faith in you, and papa, and Ada; but this afternoon, a conversation we had put things in their true light. Oh, mamma, when I tell you that to-night we had arranged to go for a short time to the theatre!"
"My poor boy."
"We should not have been late. He promised to come away in an hour; but he said it was the late hours you and papa objected to; and somehow or other he made me feel it was only a lark, and not wrong. But I see it now; and think—just think!—if I had deceived you."
Mrs. Arundel pressed his hand closely, and he went on—
"Then he was always bringing up my love for you, and for Nellie and Ada, and making out it was 'petticoat government;' and I have been so cross and unhappy."
"Have you told me all the worst, dearest?" said Mrs. Arundel, very softly.