The next moment she had taken up her candlestick and glided from the room.
Richard Glaire gave himself an impatient twist in his chair, and lay back thinking of the warm, glowing beauties of Daisy Banks, when he started up in affright, so silently had his mother risen from her couch, advanced, laid her hands upon his shoulder, one crossed over the other, and said in a low, clear voice—
“Dick, you are thinking of Daisy Banks.”
“I—I thought you were asleep.” he stammered.
“I was never more wide awake, Richard—to your interests,” said Mrs Glaire.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, petulantly, as he gave the lamp-shade a twist, so that its light should not fall upon his face, and then changed his position a little.
“Yes, you do, Richard—perfectly,” said Mrs Glaire. “I said just now that you were thinking of Daisy Banks.”
“Yes, I heard you say so; and I said, I don’t know what you mean.”
An angry retort was upon Mrs Glaire’s lips, but she checked the hasty expression, and pressing her hands a little more firmly upon her son’s shoulders, she went on—
“You know perfectly well what I mean Richard, and I must speak to you about that, as well as about the business.”