“No, dear; very little. Poor Charles provided for every kind of contingency in his will. The money will come to you and Harriet, as Irma’s guardians.”
“Good. Does the Italian get anything?”
“He will get all hers. But you know what that is.”
“Good. So those are our tactics—to tell no one about the baby, not even Miss Abbott.”
“Most certainly this is the proper course,” said Mrs. Herriton, preferring “course” to “tactics” for Harriet’s sake. “And why ever should we tell Caroline?”
“She was so mixed up in the affair.”
“Poor silly creature. The less she hears about it the better she will be pleased. I have come to be very sorry for Caroline. She, if any one, has suffered and been penitent. She burst into tears when I told her a little, only a little, of that terrible letter. I never saw such genuine remorse. We must forgive her and forget. Let the dead bury their dead. We will not trouble her with them.”
Philip saw that his mother was scarcely logical. But there was no advantage in saying so. “Here beginneth the New Life, then. Do you remember, mother, that was what we said when we saw Lilia off?”
“Yes, dear; but now it is really a New Life, because we are all at accord. Then you were still infatuated with Italy. It may be full of beautiful pictures and churches, but we cannot judge a country by anything but its men.”
“That is quite true,” he said sadly. And as the tactics were now settled, he went out and took an aimless and solitary walk.