“The child is right!” said Madame, quickly. “Geoffrey’s wife, whoever she may be, will be treated with every respect. It is not the judgment of others which she need dread, but the judgment of her own heart. Listen to me, child! You are a sweet thing, and I love you for your devotion to my boy. As I told you before, I should be in love with you in his place, but I’m an old woman, and I know the world! Geoffrey is not used to work and economy; for a little time, while the first glamour lasted, he might be contented enough, but he would weary in the end. He would surely weary, and then—how would you feel? When you saw him restless and discontented; longing to leave you and fly back to his old life, would you feel no remorse? Love’s young dream does not last for ever, my pretty child.”
“No,” said Elma, quietly; “dreams don’t last, but sometimes the awakening is better! You have known Geoffrey all his life, Mrs Greville, and it seems presumptuous to pretend that I know him even better, but I can—feel! You believe he would tire of me, and long to get back to his old luxurious life. You think he would love me very much for a little time and then be indifferent and careless, and that I should feel it was my own fault; but you are wrong. Indeed, indeed, you are wrong! He is your son—has he ever failed you? You say yourself that he has been good and true. You would trust him for your own future. Do you think he would be less loyal to his own wife? I am not at all afraid. I am like you—I trust Geoffrey!”
As she finished speaking she turned towards her lover and held out her hand towards him, and in two strides Geoffrey was by her side; was on his knees beside her, holding that little hand pressed between both his own, turning to look at his mother with triumphant eyes; with eyes ashine with something deeper than triumph.
Geoffrey on his knees! Tears in Geoffrey’s eyes! Madame stared in amaze, then broke into a sudden excited laugh.
“Bravo, Elma! Bravo, Geoffrey! Congratulations, my dears. Thank heaven you have a mother who knows when she is well beaten!”
She rose from her seat and crossed the room to where the girl sat. “Bravo, little Elma! I like to see a good fighting spirit. You will make Geoffrey a charming wife, and I shall be proud of my daughter.” She took Elma’s disengaged hand and pressed it between her own, and the girl smiled a happy response, but Geoffrey was oblivious of her presence, his eyes fixed upon his love’s face, with the rapt, adoring gaze with which a knight of old may have gazed upon the vision of the grail. His mother looked at him, and her lips quivered. Artificial and frivolous though she was, her only son was dear to her heart. Since the hour of his birth he had been to her as a pivot round which the world revolved. Her son—the last of the Grevilles who had owned the Manor since the days of the Tudors. To be alienated from him would be the bitterest grief which life could bring.
Her grip tightened on the girl’s hand.
“Elma!” she cried urgently. “I am Geoffrey’s mother. He is yours now, and will be swayed by you, but he has been mine for thirty-three years. If I have taken part against you, it has been because I believed it was best for him. I have lost, and you have won. You will be his wife, the mistress of the Manor. I don’t grudge you your success, but don’t—don’t bear me a grudge! Don’t turn my boy against me!”
“Mrs Greville!” gasped Elma, breathlessly. “Mrs Greville!” She pulled her hand from Geoffrey’s grasp, and rose swiftly to her feet. “Oh, please don’t think that I could be so mean! I want him to love you more, not less. I want to be a real daughter! You must not think that I am going to drive you from your place. You must stay on at the Manor, and let me learn from you. There is so much that I shall have to learn. I shall be quite satisfied to be allowed to help!”
“Silly child!” said Madame, smiling. She lifted her delicate, ringed hand and stroked the girl’s cheeks with kindly patronage. “You don’t know what you are talking about, my dear, but I do—fortunately for us all! Geoffrey’s wife must have no divided rule. You need not trouble your pretty head about me. Norton palls at times even to a Greville, and I shall enjoy my liberty. I’ll go out and spend a cold weather with Carol; I’ll have a cosy little flat in town, and do the theatres. I’ll enjoy myself gadding about, and come down upon you now and then when I want a rest, but I’ll never live with you, my dear; be sure of that!”