“This time he has come.”
“If he had come earlier all this would not have happened. Has he really come?”
“He is here—in England, that is.”
Lady Charlotte gasped and lay back. Unwin handed her the bottle of smelling-salts. “I have done nothing more than my duty,” she said.
Mr. Sycamore became more gentle in his manner than ever. “As the person finally responsible—”
“No!”
“Haven’t you been just a little careless?”
“Mr. Sycamore, it was this boy who was careless. I am sorry to say it now that he— I can only hope that at the last— But he was not a good boy. Anything but a good boy. He had been altogether demoralized by those mad, violent creatures. He ran away from this school, an excellent school, highly recommended. And you must remember, Mr. Sycamore, that I was paying for it. The abnormal position of the property, the way in which apparently all the income is to be paid over to these women—without consulting me. Well, I won’t complain of that now. I was prepared to pay. I paid. But the boy was already thoroughly corrupted. His character was undermined. He ran away. I wash my hands of the consequences.”
Mr. Sycamore was on the point of saying something and thought better of it.
“At any rate,” he said, “I have to ask you on behalf of Mr. Oswald Sydenham to produce the other child—the girl.”