"You've seen your mother then?"
"Yes, Bab." His voice was toneless, its depth of weariedness abysmal. After another pause, while apparently he waited for her reply, David spoke again: "Bab, it makes no difference to me. The other day when I told you nothing would, I meant it. Open the door, won't you?"
As gently as she could Bab answered him:
"I can't, David—not now. I'll let you know when I can."
Over her shoulder she threw a swift glance at the clock. Ten minutes to eight. At eight Beeston, as was his wont, would come stamping down the stair. It was he whom she dreaded meeting. Now that she realized he knew everything, she dared not face him.
"You're not coming down then?" David finally asked.
Go down to dinner and face again that grim, indomitable figure at the head of the table? Bab quailed at the thought.
"No. And you must go now, please," she said.
"Can't I see you just a moment?" he begged.