"As to living together, Lot," said Mamma, sadly, in a child's coaxing voice, casting up her blue child-eyes, "I should be quite willing, if Elly is and if she promises to take things as she finds them. I shall feel very lonely without you. But, if there were any objections, I might go over to England. I have my two boys there. And Mary is coming home from India this year."
Lot knitted his brows and put his hand up to his fair hair: it was very neat, with a parting.
"Or else ... I might go and look up Ottilie at Nice."
"No, Mamma, not that!" said Lot, almost angrily.
"Why not?" exclaimed Mrs. Steyn de Weert, raising her voice. "She's my child, surely?"
"Yes," Lot admitted, quickly recovering his composure. "But ..."
"But what? Surely, my own child...?"
"But it would be very silly of you to go to Ottilie."
"Why, even if we have quarrelled at times ..."
"It would never do; you can't get on with her. If you go to Ottilie, I won't get married. Besides, Steyn has something to say in the matter."