She herself felt the blow acutely. She was forced against her will to condemn her beloved boy. Philip had acted very badly. There was no getting over it. He had caused a scandal all over Hastings. She would never have believed it of Philip—her Philip. She had thought that of all the world she understood him best. She had smiled when others had said that Philip had forgotten Eweretta—and now this incredible thing had happened.
“How are we to tell him, Robert?” she echoed her brother’s words.
Mr. Burns was facing the open door, and at that precise moment the tall, gaunt figure of the soldier appeared framed there.
“You have news of Phyllis,” he said quite calmly.
Then he advanced towards the others.
Mrs. Barrimore handed him the telegram. What else could she do?
“So they are together,” he said in dangerous tones.
Mrs. Barrimore gazed at the outraged father—the man whom she so tenderly loved—with eyes full of desperate pleading. The culprit was her only son—the son for whom she had sacrificed herself all her life.
Would he be merciful?
The soldier was uppermost in Colonel Lane just then—the soldier, who at duty’s call untwines clinging arms from about his neck, turns a deaf ear to entreaties to stay, though uttered in the voice he loves best.