(Why in God’s name, Clifford asked himself, didn’t the man set loose the anger and denunciation and defiance customary in such situations, and not play this cat-and-mouse game!)
“And Mr. Grayson being such a good friend,” Mr. Morton continued, “in fact, a most intimate friend, I naturally was most eager to become acquainted with Mrs. Grayson. Please do not consider that I am descending to mere flattery, Mrs. Grayson, when I say that I applaud his taste.”
“Thank you.”
“I do not mean to depreciate him, but he has shown a finer discrimination than I thought Mr. Grayson capable of.”
Clifford saw Mary stiffen. He knew her instinct to rush forth to meet an inevitable danger.
“I also do not believe in beating about the bush,” she said quietly. “We both are aware that in speaking of Mr. Grayson we are speaking of your son.”
The veiled keenness in Mr. Morton’s eyes became open. “I perceive, Mrs. Grayson, that you are not only beautiful, but that you are an unusual woman.” He did not speak for a moment; then, “Let me add that I not only applaud Jack’s taste, but approve his choice.”
Both Clifford and Mary started. “You approve Jack’s choice!” she breathed.
“How could I help it?” he returned.
Clifford and Mary could only stare at him. They had expected outraged fury—and this had come! They were so dazed that they did not know Jack had entered until he stammered:—