Great-aunt clung to his arm.
“She’s not kind. My daughter’s very hard on me.”
For the first time Anita showed signs of agitation. She was almost appealing.
“Kent! You mustn’t believe her. It’s not fair. You see my position. One has to be firm. And you don’t know how trying——What am I to do? Shall I tell her? She’s as obstinate—I’ll never get her to bed. Ought I to tell her? She’ll have to be told sooner or later. She’ll have to realize——”
He said—
“I’ll talk to her if you like.”
Anita looked at him intently.
“It’s good of you. She has always listened to you. Since you and I were children together. Do you remember, Kent? Yes, you talk to her.”
“What’s she saying?” demanded Great-aunt. Her old eyes were bright with suspicion. “Talking you over, eh? Talk anyone over, my daughter will—my clever daughter. So clever. Madala thinks so too. ‘Dripping with brains.’ That’s what Madala said. Made me laugh. Quite true, though. Hasn’t Madala come yet?”
“Now, look here, Mrs. Serle——” he put his arm round her bent shoulders, “it’s very foggy, you know, and it’s very late. Nobody could travel—nobody could come tonight. You’ll believe us, won’t you?”