“How can you, Lancelot, how can you!” His mother, forgetful of my presence, was clinging to him with tentative caresses. “When you didn’t need the money any longer I spent it all on the children—you know I did.”
“Yes, on lace christening dresses and life-size rocking-horses with real manes! The kind of thing children can’t do without.”
“Oh, Lancelot, Lancelot—I loved them so! How can you believe such falsehoods about me?”
“What falsehoods about you?”
“That I ever told anybody such dreadful things?”
He put her back gently, keeping his eyes on hers. “Did you never tell anybody in this house that you were lecturing to support your son?”
Her hands dropped from his shoulders and she flashed round on me in sudden anger.
“I know what I think of people who call themselves friends and who come between a mother and her son!”
“Oh, mother, mother!” he groaned.
I went up to him and laid my hand on his shoulder.