Mrs. Fabian's mind was of the sort which associates social status indissolubly with money. She had always felt that in winning a millionaire for a husband, she had married above her; and, shaking off her own humble family connection wherever possible, had tried to be as nearly all Fabian as circumstances permitted. Her step-children had therefore never been expected or requested to adopt her relatives as their own. She now referred to the one memorable visit of Phil's beautiful mother to their island home, for Kathleen's persistent formality in referring to the artist brought a flush to her cheeks.
If Kathleen, the proud, the reserved, the self-contained, were to pronounce upon the young man unfavorably, she should have nothing to say to the contrary, though she would continue to be kind to Mary's child in private.
"I was only thinking," she continued, "that if you still remember his mother in your thoughts as your Aunt Mary, it seems rather formal to tack a Mr. upon Philip. You know, Kathleen," Mrs. Fabian's flush deepened, "I did not ask you to go to see him. I wanted Edgar to go, for the looks of the thing, since Phil is an entire stranger, and when I found he never would go by himself, I was thankful that you took him. You have been so—so grouchy ever since, that I'm sorry you went; but I don't see why you should blame me for it. It was your own proposition."
"I know, mother," returned the girl; "and if you will promise not to go over there and take the tea-set I'll not be grouchy." The dark eyes lifted wistfully to Mrs. Fabian's astonished countenance.
"What do you mean by my forfeiting Phil's respect?" she asked. "Do you mean that he wants them so much? Why, they'll be smashed or stolen in that rough place. They'll be nothing but a nuisance to him."
"They belong to Eliza," pleaded Kathleen.
"They belong to me!" retorted Mrs. Fabian explosively. "Philip will see that at once."
Kathleen's lips closed. They had arrived at the station, and she said no more; but she departed with one consoling thought. Mrs. Fabian had misdirected herself and Edgar the day before. Perhaps she could not find the place to-day; but that lady, as soon as the car door was closed on her child, spoke through the tube to the chauffeur.
"Drive," she said, "to the same place in Gramercy Park where you took Miss Kathleen yesterday."
Soon she was face to face with Pat, and presently standing in Phil's forlorn apartment. The pieces of Mrs. Ballard's bedstead were still leaning against the wall.