“Why, Henry?”
“Because I am going to marry another woman, mother.”
“Going to marry another woman?” she repeated, bewildered. “Whom? Is it that girl?”
“Yes, mother, it is she Joan Haste. You remember a conversation that we had shortly after my father’s death?”
She bowed her head in assent.
“Then you pointed out to me what you considered to be my duty, and begged me to take time to think. I did so, and came to the conclusion that on the whole your view was the right one, as I told you last night. This morning, however, I have received two letters, the first news of Joan Haste that has reached me since she left Bradmouth, which oblige me to change my mind. Here they are: perhaps you will read them.”
Lady Graves took the letters and perused them carefully, reading them twice from end to end. Then she handed them back to her son.
“Do you understand now, mother?” he asked.
“Perfectly, Henry.”
“And do you still think that I am wrong in determining to marry Joan Haste whom I love?”