But he came slowly; perhaps, thought Mabin, he was talking to Mrs. Dale. She listened more intently; but as the voices came gradually nearer, she was able to assure herself that they were only those of Rudolph and of “Mr. Banks.” Scarcely able to control her anxiety, she stepped out through the gates into the road, at the very moment that Lady Mallyan’s harsh voice sounded behind her, speaking to the parlormaid:
“Where is my cab?”
Rudolph heard these words, and he hurried forward with his companion. It was now almost dark. Mabin saw who the man was beside him, but she could not distinguish his face.
“I beg your pardon, madam,” said Rudolph, raising his hat and walking quickly after the old lady, who had passed through the gate and was hurrying down the road: “Your son wishes to speak to you. He cannot walk so fast as you, but he has sent me with this message.”
She stopped short, appeared to hesitate, and then turned back without a word.
It was close to where Mabin stood, stupidly, not knowing exactly what was going to happen, or what she ought to do on behalf of Mrs. Dale, that mother and son met.
Dark as it was out there, with only a line of pale yellow light left in the horizon, shading off through sea-green into the blue above, Mabin saw enough to know that the meeting was one of deep import. Old Lady Mallyan seemed uneasy; the harshness which Mabin had hitherto believed to be her most salient quality had almost disappeared from her tones as she addressed her son:
“I am sorry,” she said, quite gently, as she put out her arms toward him, “to find you here. It can do no good. It might have done great harm. Why did you not let me know where you were? Why did you deceive me?”
But “Mr. Banks” did not accept the offered caress of the outstretched arms.
“I will tell you why, mother, presently. But now, where is Dorothy? I want to see her. I must see her. Surely,” he went on as she did not at first answer, “surely she will see me now you are here. Surely she will not refuse!”