Mother and Son.
“I thought you would have come in, George,” said Mrs Canninge, entering her son’s library, where he was seated, looking very moody and thoughtful.
“Come in? Come in where?”
“To the drawing-room, dear. Beatrice Lambent called. I thought you would have known.”
“I saw some one come by,” he said quietly. “I did not know it was she.”
“She is in great trouble, poor girl!” continued Mrs Canninge; “or, I should say, they are all in great trouble at the Vicarage.”
“Indeed! I’m very sorry. What is wrong!”
“Nothing serious, my dear; only you know what good people they are, and when they make a protégée of anybody, and that body doesn’t turn out well, of course they feel it deeply.”
“Of course,” said George Canninge absently; and his mother bit her lip, for she had not excited his curiosity in the least and she had wanted him to ask questions.
“It seems very sad, poor girl!” she said after a pause.