"He won't, and even if he does--Oh, don't you see that I've--that I've ruined you! I've ruined your career. I've ruined you both."
"Rubbish!" There was something of his mother's brusquerie in the man's tone.
"It isn't rubbish." The woman was deadly in her calm. "It's the absolute truth. Don't let us deceive ourselves."
He tried to take her in his arms; but she rose, eluding him. "Don't, Ronnie! Let's be sensible; it's high time. We--you and I and your mother--have made a mistake. A mistake that's almost irretrievable. There's only one thing to be done now----"
"And that is?" He had never known her in this mood. She seemed utterly different from the sensitive Aliette of a few hours since; almost unloving, hard, purposeful, resolute.
"And that is?" he repeated.
"I must leave you."
At her words Ronnie's heart stopped beating as though some giant had put a finger on it. For one fraction of a second, love vanished utterly; almost, he hated her.
"Yes," went on Aliette, "I must leave you. It's the only way, I'll take a little cottage. Somewhere not too far from London. And you--you must go and live with your mother."
His heart began beating again, faintly.