“Well—the clash is over. We’ll let each other alone after this.”
“But what is to become of you? Of course, I’ll have something; and as long as I have anything—” Mrs. Richmond checked herself, flushed. “In fact, I have got a little, Beatrice. I put by in case there ever should be this kind of trouble between him and the children. I can let you have a good income—enough, with what you’ve got, to make a showing you needn’t be ashamed of. Have you seen Mr. Wade?”
Beatrice put her arms around her mother and kissed her—tenderly, but with that carefulness which one woman never neglects in caressing another who has made a careful toilet. “If I need the money I’ll tell you, dear,” said she. “No, I haven’t seen him. Have you?”
“Late yesterday afternoon. He was striding along the road—didn’t see me.”
“How was he looking?”
“Anxious and depressed, I thought.”
Beatrice beamed. “You’re not telling me that—just to make me feel good?”
“No—no, indeed. He looked almost haggard.”
Beatrice kissed her mother again. There could not be the slightest doubt. Her mother, in the habit of siding with her children against their aggressive father and of protecting them from him, was moving in her direction. “Why don’t you go to see him?” she boldly suggested.
“If your father should find out!”