For several minutes they said nothing. Then Mrs. Gallant broke the silence.
"Tell me," she said, "was that Miss Carrillo's automobile that brought her here, Sunday?"
"Oh, mother!" he exclaimed, exasperated.
"I'm sorry, John. I only thought you might tell me."
"I don't know and I don't care," he said, coming to his feet. "Mother, this is all foolishness—rank foolishness. Here you and I sit quarreling over things that are none of our business. I never thought it of you. I never thought you could think such things, let alone breathe a word about them. I never——"
"John, John," said Mrs. Gallant, pleadingly, "don't, don't!"
"I can't believe it's you," he said, angrily. "Some one has been putting these infernal thoughts into your head—some gossiping, scandal-loving, evil-thinking——"
"My boy!"
He stopped and the anger that had surged so swiftly slowly left him—left him ashamed that he had given way to his temper, ashamed that he had spoken so sharply to the one he loved more than any one in the world, and who, he knew, loved him as no one else would ever love him.
Her head was bowed in her hand, her arm resting on the side of her chair. He went to her and dropped on his knees at her feet.