He then read that Gino could not accept the generous offer. His paternal heart would not permit him to abandon this symbol of his deplored spouse. As for the picture post-cards, it displeased him greatly that they had been obnoxious. He would send no more. Would Mrs. Herriton, with her notorious kindness, explain this to Irma, and thank her for those which Irma (courteous Miss!) had sent to him?
“The sum works out against us,” said Philip. “Or perhaps he is putting up the price.”
“No,” said Mrs. Herriton decidedly. “It is not that. For some perverse reason he will not part with the child. I must go and tell poor Caroline. She will be equally distressed.”
She returned from the visit in the most extraordinary condition. Her face was red, she panted for breath, there were dark circles round her eyes.
“The impudence!” she shouted. “The cursed impudence! Oh, I’m swearing. I don’t care. That beastly woman—how dare she interfere—I’ll—Philip, dear, I’m sorry. It’s no good. You must go.”
“Go where? Do sit down. What’s happened?” This outburst of violence from his elegant ladylike mother pained him dreadfully. He had not known that it was in her.
“She won’t accept—won’t accept the letter as final. You must go to Monteriano!”
“I won’t!” he shouted back. “I’ve been and I’ve failed. I’ll never see the place again. I hate Italy.”
“If you don’t go, she will.”
“Abbott?”