"It is an impossible situation," and he gave a great sigh. "I shall tell John that I have seen you—I cannot help it, the times are too precarious to have acted otherwise. And afterwards, when the war is over, we must face the matter and decide what is best to be done."
"I cannot live without you, Denzil, and that I know."
They said good-bye at last silently, after many kisses and tears, and Denzil came out into the darkening street to his mother in the motor, with white, set face.
"I am a little troubled, dearest boy," she whispered, as they went along. "I feel that there is something underneath all this and that Amaryllis means some great thing in your life—the whole aspect of everything fills me with discomfort. It is unlike your usual, sensitive refinement, Denzil, to have gone to see her—now—"
"I understand exactly what you mean, Mother. I should say the same thing myself in your place. I can't explain anything, only I beg of you to trust me. Amaryllis is an angel of purity and sweetness; perhaps some day you will understand."
She took his hand into her muff and held it:
"You know I have no conventions, dearest, and my creed is to believe what you say, but I cannot account for the situation because of your only having met Amaryllis so lately for the first time. I could understand it perfectly if you had been her lover, and the child was your child, but she has not been married a whole year yet to John!"
Denzil answered nothing—he pressed his mother's hand.
She returned the pressure:
"We will talk no more about it."