"But it caused infinite misery to others. My grandmother never really got over it. It brought about the extinction of the Flowers."
"I'm sorry, Mother, but I can't go back on my word. Besides, we've been living here as man and wife. It wouldn't be right."
This boy of nineteen to be talking of living here as man and wife!
Mary was suddenly chilled.
"Very well, Geoffrey, if you will not listen to me, I must see what your father can do. You must remember that you are not yet of age, and if your father sees fit to exercise his authority you will have to obey. I shall telegraph for him at once."
"Perhaps Father will condescend to see Mary before he does anything," Geoffrey said. "Perhaps he won't judge her as you have judged her without seeing her."
Mary turned away from her son and went quickly from the room. She felt when she walked up Buckingham Street as if she was struggling up through some horrible drain to reach the air.
In the hall of her own hotel the porter told her that Mr. Alison had arrived and was waiting for Mrs. Alison in Mrs. Alison's room. Mary went upstairs, glad that he had come, because he might do something with Geoffrey. He might remonstrate with the girl and persuade her to give him up. In books it would have been herself who would have done that; but books seemed to forget that a mother could be as proud as anybody when her deepest feelings were outraged.
"Mary, my poor little wife, prepare yourself for a dreadful shock," Jemmie cried when she entered her room.
In an instant she guessed that it was bad news about Richard.