"Yes, to see Falk."
"I am not going to see Falk."
"You're not going up to him?"
"Why should I go?"
"Why should you go? You can ask me that?...To stop this terrible marriage."
"I don't intend to stop it."
There was a pause. She seemed to summon every nerve in her body to her control.
The twitching of her fingers against her dress was her only movement.
"Would you please tell me what you mean to do? After all, I am his mother."
The tenderness that he had felt at first sight of her was increasing so strangely that it was all he could do not to go over to her. But his horror of any demonstration kept him where he was. "Amy, dear," he said, "I've had a dreadful day--in every way a terrible day. I haven't had time, as things have gone, to think things out. I want to be fair. I want to do the right thing. I do indeed. I don't think there's anything to be gained by going up to London. One thing only now I'm clear about. He's got to marry the girl now he's gone off with her. To do him justice he intends to do that. He says that he has done her no harm, and we must take his word for that. Falk has been many things-- careless, reckless, selfish, but never in all his life dishonourable. If I went up now we should quarrel, and perhaps something irreparable would occur. Even though he was persuaded to return, the mischief is done. He must be just to the girl. Every one in the town knows by now that she went with him--her father has been busy proclaiming the news even though there has been no one else."