"Yes."
"What about her?"
"She's—she's in the divorce court!"
Mrs. Bishop slowly laid down her egg-spoon. "Pass me the paper," she said.
"Yes; just one minute. The case came on—"
"Dora—the paper!"
The printed sheets were handed to her across the table, and Sally's eyes—pained, terrified—watched her face as she read. When she had finished, she laid down the paper, took off her spectacles and laid them glass downwards on the table. The long steel wires to pass over the ears stood upright, formidably bristling.
"I always had my suspicions about that woman," she said, with thin lips. "Oh, it's monstrous, it's abominable! That boy can't stop here another minute."
"Oh, but, mother—why?" Sally exclaimed importunately. "What's he done—he's done nothing."
"If you had a little more understanding about the laws of propriety, you wouldn't ask a ridiculous question like that. The boy must go at once. I've often thought since you came down here that the effect of London upon you was to make you extremely lax in your judgment of other people's morals. I've noticed it once or twice in different things you've said. But you'll kindly leave this matter entirely to me. That boy—I feel ashamed to think he's ever been under this roof—is illegitimate!"