"Oh, my dear mother," Muriel burst in impatiently, "must you really trot out the old legend that Socialism means equal money for all? It doesn't really mean anything of the kind."
In a moment Muriel was embarked upon a passionate disquisition about the real aims of Socialism; and Mary felt with a thrill of pleasure that she had lured her daughter into revealing some of herself without being aware that she was doing so and in the knowledge becoming self-conscious and reserved.
After their talk, in which Muriel admitted that her mother displayed an unusual ability to understand her point of view, there seemed the likelihood of a friendship springing up between the mother and daughter. Mary talked to her about Geoffrey, and it was agreed between them that Muriel should pay a visit to Wood Green.
"For perhaps with tact Geoffrey's wife may grow less suspicious of my advances. I was too precipitate when I visited them in November. I was so much distressed by the rooms and so much upset to think about my own behavior's being the cause of it all, that I foolishly suggested bringing the little girl to live with us here. But if you were to go, dear child, you would manage better than I can to reassure his wife."
A week or two later Muriel set out to pay her first visit; but when she reached 45 Almond Terrace the vulturine landlady told her that Mr. and Mrs. Alison had gone away without an address.
"There's nothing to be done now," Mary lamented. "I left it until it was too late."
"You did all you could, mother."
"Now when it's too late. By the way, dear, I want to give a few very quiet dinner-parties during May. You won't find them too much of a bore?"
"Not if you want to have dinner-parties, mother."
"Well, to be frank, I've been telling myself for some time that you ought to be thinking about getting married. You'll be twenty-six soon, you know, dear, and I should like to see you happily settled."