"Good heavens! She defends him! The vile—"
"Mother!"
"Carolyn!"
The girl asserted herself. She spoke with dignity. "You are speaking of the man who was to be my husband; please remember that. And I love him; remember that also. By accident he met that—that—" her voice sharpened—"he met Prudence. She, of course, tempted him; she would tempt an angel from heaven. And he loved her. It was all a mistake, his thinking he cared for me,—that is, to marry me. Now we've got to bear it. Prudence—but no," coldly, "why should I talk of her?"
"You defend him!" Mrs. Ffolliott cried, with hysterical repetition. "That a child of mine should—"
"Mother!" said the girl again, "we won't talk of this."
"Not talk of this insult!—this—I say he's a scamp, and he shall never come into my house again!"
"He will probably never try. We shall never see him again. And he won't be happy with her. Oh, I want him to be happy, whatever happens!"
Carolyn said the last words as if she did not know she was not alone. Her face at that moment had a look of such fervid loveliness that her mother involuntarily turned away as if from something sacred.
