“Been? There was something I had to do. No time during the day. So I've just got it done before——”
“Where have you been?” said Mrs. Teesdale.
The young man stared. His mother had repeated the question thrice, each time in exactly the same tone, without raising her voice or moving a muscle as she stood on the threshold, with the brass door-handle still between her fingers.
“What business is it of yours, mother?” he said sullenly. “Surely to goodness I'm old enough to do what I like? I'm not what you'd exactly call a boy.”
“You are my boy. Where have you been?”
“In Melbourne—since you so very much want to know.”
He had lost patience, and adopted defiance.
“I was sure of it,” said Mrs. Teesdale, coming into the room now, and quietly shutting the door behind her. “I was sure of it.”
Then, very slowly and deliberately, she raised her left arm, until one lean finger pointed to the wall at his left, and through that wall, as it were, into the room which had been occupied by each of the two visitors. Her eyes flashed into her son's. The lean finger trembled. But she said no word.
“What does that mean?” he asked at last, with an uneasy laugh.