Then she gave way to hysterics!
And even now, when, by the help of a wet sponge and a maid and a bottle of champagne, he has pulled her through, sufficient at all events to be able to talk rationally, she is still in the very lowest depths of despair.
"And to think you should have sacrificed yourself for a mere 'person' like that! A little"—sob—"wretched nobody. Oh! if your father could only see you now! A creature of no family, no manners, no——"
"Who are you talking of, mother? My father?"
"If you can be frivolous at this moment, Maurice, you can be frivolous for ever," says his mother, weeping (presumably) behind her little lace rag, her voice like a dagger.
"I'm far from that," says Maurice, flinging himself into a chair. "But the fact is, mother, let us leave Tita out of this affair. I object to hearing her—er—criticised by you—or anyone."
Tessie weeps afresh.
"The soul of honour," breathes she, apostrophizing the ceiling. "But I cannot let you, Maurice, be so deceived by a mere swindler such as she is. Do you for a moment imagine—ah yes!" throwing up her hands and plainly admiring Maurice with great fervour—"you probably do; you have a soul, Maurice, a great soul, inherited from me! But I shall not permit that little vulgar fraud of a girl to demoralize it. Of course she knew all about her uncle's speculations—and married you gladly, knowing what the end would be. Oh! my poor boy!"
Lady Rylton retires again behind her lace rag.
"That will do," says Maurice curtly.