“You mean,” he said, beginning for the first time to comprehend her, “that you don't mind the poverty?”
“Poverty!” she cried. “I cared for nothing but the disgrace.”
“Disgrace?”
“Oh, never mind, Ted! If it isn't true, if I've been dreaming....”
Instead of a woman stunned by a life sentence of poverty, he saw his wife rejoicing as if she had heard good news.
Their minds were held for a minute by the sound of some one knocking at the house door; one of the girls opened the door, there was a brief hubbub in the passage and then they heard a cry of “Eleanor!” through the folding doors.
“There's Eleanor,” he said, realizing he had told his wife nothing of the encounter in Hyde Park.
They heard Eleanor's clear voice: “Where's Mummy? Or Daddy?” and then: “Can't stay now, dears. Where's Mummy or Daddy?”
“I ought to have told you,” said Scrope quickly. “I met Eleanor in the Park. By accident. She's come up unexpectedly. To meet a boy going to the front. Quite a nice boy. Son of Riverton the doctor. The parting had made them understand one another. It's all right, Ella. It's a little irregular, but I'd stake my life on the boy. She's very lucky.”
Eleanor appeared through the folding doors. She came to business at once.