“I will see what I can do,” he said finally, with a smile that cancelled the offensiveness of the intention conveyed of “pumping” his friend. “And we will confer further. Meanwhile, I know you will like to hear that his financial proceedings are prospering exceedingly, and are discretion itself!”
But the further conference, which took place in a day or two, was entirely fruitless as far as its nominal purpose was concerned. Loring did not reveal to Mrs. Romayne the exceeding brevity and decision with which Julian had dealt with any and every attempt to lead the conversation towards the Pomeroys, but he gave her to understand that at present he had nothing to tell her.
One night, about a week later, when she and her son came home in the dawn of the July day from a series of “at homes,” Mrs. Romayne, instead of saying good night to Julian at the door of her room, as was her custom, laid her hand suddenly on his arm and drew him just across the threshold. Her face was white to the very lips, and there was a set desperation in it stronger even than the fear with which her eyes were full. Her voice, as she spoke, was breathless and uncertain as though her heart beat with painful rapidity.
“Julian,” she said, “what is it that has gone wrong between you and Maud Pomeroy?”
A flash, so quick in the passing that its intense bitterness was not to be detected, passed across Julian’s face; it seemed to leave him armed with an expression of determined brightness which defied all emotion or sentiment.
“I don’t know that anything has ‘gone wrong,’ dear,” he said lightly.
His mother’s hold on his arm tightened desperately.
“I saw what happened to-night in the supper-room,” she said. “Won’t you”—her voice broke, and there came to it a strangely beseeching note—“won’t you tell me what it is?”
Julian’s face grew rather set, and he paused a moment. Then he said, still in the same tone:
“It is nothing that I need worry you about, dear.”