"I know everything," said his mother imperiously. "Mr. Hale is annoyed by the way in which you are haunting his Marlow cottage, and has asked me to use my influence with you to stop the annoyance."
"That is quite likely," rejoined George, fuming, "but I decline to give up Lesbia. Mr. Hale knows that."
"He knows, apparently, that you are obstinate and foolish," said Mrs. Walker in a chilly manner. "And as your infatuation--for it is nothing else--can lead to nothing, I must ask you to stop these hopeless visits."
"Mother, if you knew Lesbia----"
"I know that Lesbia is the daughter of a man whom I despise and hate," said Mrs. Walker, moved to cold anger, "and my son shall never marry her."
"You have not the power to stop the marriage," said George quietly.
"That is quite true. I have no money to threaten disinheritance, and no legal power over a man who is of age. I might indeed appeal to your affection, but I fear that it would be useless."
George flung his cigarette out of the window, and thrust his hands moodily into his pockets. "Affection is a strange word to use between us, mother," he remarked bitterly. "You have always been strict and straightforward, and painfully polite. You have given me a good education, and you have instructed me in good manners. My home," he looked round, "or rather your home, you permit me to share."
"Pardon me, George, you forget that you contribute to the domestic economy of this home, such as it is. Go on."
"I mean," cried George desperately, for her manner chilled him, "that you have never been a mother to me in the accepted sense of the word."