“None. That’s exactly why I chose him. I’m providing the experience.”
“Have you known him long?” Arthur demanded. “You can’t have known him very long. He must have been at school when you left England.”
“Don’t be jealous,” said Sylvia.
“Jealous? Of him? Huh!”
Mrs. Madden had changed more than Sylvia expected. Arthur had seemed so little altered that she was surprised to see his mother with white hair, for she could scarcely be fifty-five yet. The drawing-room of the little house in Dulwich recalled vividly the drawing-room of the house in Hampstead; nor had Mrs. Madden bought herself a new piano with the fifty pounds that was cabled back to her from Sulphurville. It suddenly occurred to Sylvia that this was the first time she had seen her since she ran away with Arthur, fifteen years ago, and she felt that she ought to apologize for that behavior now; but, after all, Mrs. Madden had run away herself once upon a time with her father’s groom and could scarcely have been greatly astonished at Arthur’s elopement.
“You have forgiven me for carrying him off from Hampstead?” she asked, with a smile.
Mrs. Madden laughed gently. “Yes, I was frightened at the time. But in the end it did Arthur good, I think. It’s been such a pleasure to me to hear how successful he’s been lately.” She looked at Sylvia with an expression of marked sympathy.
After supper Mrs. Madden came up to Sylvia’s room and, taking her hand, said, in her soft voice, “Arthur has told me all about you two.”
Sylvia flushed and pulled her hand away. “He’s no business to tell you anything about me,” she said, hotly.
“You mustn’t be angry, Sylvia. He made it quite clear that you hadn’t quite made up your mind yet. Poor boy,” she added, with a sigh.