"Harriet had a shocking bad headache. She has been ill all day," he replied, hastily. "It was quite impossible for her to leave her room. She regrets——"
"That will do, Everard!" His mother rose as she spoke, with a short laugh. "I understand it all. Don't trouble yourself to explain. Let us go to the dining-room—dinner waits."
"But, my dear mother, it is really as I say. Harrie is ill."
"Ill? Yes, ill of a guilty conscience, perhaps! Such a mother—such a daughter! I always knew how this mad mésalliance would end. I don't know that I am surprised. I don't know that I regret it. I am only sorry that my son's wife should be the first to disgrace the name of Kingsland!"
"Disgrace? Take care, mother! That is an ugly word."
"It is. But, however ugly, it is always best to call these things by their right names."
"These things! What under heaven do you mean?"
"Do you really need to ask?" she said, with cold contempt. "Are you indeed so blind where this woman is concerned? Why, my son's wife is the talk of the town, and my son sits here and asks me what I mean?"
"Mamma! mamma!" Mildred said, imploringly. "Pray don't! You are cruel! Don't say such dreadful things!"
"Your mother is cruel, and unjust, and unnatural!" he said, in a hard, hoarse voice. "Do you tell me what she means, Mildred."