‘Well, Mother?’ said Jocelyn, getting up as she approached.
He had been smoking, content to leave whatever it was Sally had been doing in his mother’s capable hands, yet wishing to goodness Sally hadn’t done it. This trick of wanting to be with servants must revolt his mother. It revolted him; how much more, then, his fastidious mother.
‘I can guess what it is, I’m afraid,’ he said, as she sat down beside him.
‘No,’ said Mrs. Luke. ‘You haven’t any idea.’
‘What has she been doing, Mother?’ he asked, seriously alarmed, and throwing away his cigarette.
‘Salvatia? Nothing. Nothing that matters, poor dear child. It’s not about her I want to talk. It’s about Mr. Thorpe.’
‘Mr. Thorpe?’
‘Yes. Abergeldie. That’s Mr. Thorpe’s. That’s why you are going there—because it is Mr. Thorpe’s.’
‘But why should we——?’
‘Now Jocelyn,’ she interrupted, ‘please keep well in mind that Mr. Thorpe is the most absolutely reliable, trustworthy, excellent, devoted man. I can find no flaw in his character. He is generous to a fault—really to a fault. He has a perfect genius for kindness. Indeed, I can’t tell you how highly I think of him.’