Lady Rhoda (rising). Ah well, I prefer a hero who looks as if he had his hair cut, occasionally—but then, I'm not romantic. He may be the paragon you say; but if I was you, my dear, I wouldn't expect too much of that young man—allow a margin for shrinkage, don't you know. And now I think I'll turn into my little crib, for I'm dead tired. Good night; don't sit up late readin' poetry; it's my opinion you've read quite enough as it is!
[She goes.
Lady Maisie (alone, as she gazes dreamily into the fire). She doesn't in the least understand! She actually suspects me of—— As if I could possibly—or as if mamma would ever—even if he—— Oh, how silly I am!... I don't care! I am glad I haven't had to give up my ideal. I should like to know him better. What harm is there in that? And if Gerald chooses to go to-morrow, he must—that's all. He isn't nearly so nice as he used to be; and he has even less imagination than ever! I don't think I could care for anybody so absolutely matter-of-fact. And yet, only an hour ago I almost—— But that was before!
PART XXI
THE FEELINGS OF A MOTHER.
In the Morning Room. Time—Sunday morning; just after breakfast.
Captain Thicknesse (outside, to Tredwell). Dogcart round, eh? everything in? All right—shan't be a minute. (Entering.) Hallo, Pilliner, you all alone here? (He looks round disconcertedly.) Don't happen to have seen Lady Maisie about?
Pilliner. Let me see—she was here a little while ago, I fancy.... Why? Do you want her?
Captain Thicknesse. No—only to say good-bye and that. I'm just off.
Pilliner. Off? To-day! You don't mean to tell me your chief is such an inconsiderate old ruffian as to expect you to travel back to your Tommies on the Sabbath! You could wait till to-morrow if you wanted to. Come now!