"I remember," she said sadly, "I remember he once spoke to me very kindly about my son."
"And he thought kindly," said Marcella, rapidly; "he is kind at heart. Aldous! if Cousin Charlotte consents, why not at least put the case to him? He knows everything. He might undertake what we want, for her sake,—for all our sakes,—and it might succeed."
The swift yet calm decision of her manner completed Maxwell's bewilderment.
His eyes sought hers, while the others waited, conscious, somehow, of a dramatic moment. Fontenoy's flash of malicious curiosity made him even forget, while it lasted, the little tragic figure on the sofa.
"What do you say, Cousin Charlotte?" said Maxwell at last.
His voice was dry and business-like. Only the wife who watched him perceived the silent dignity with which he had accepted her appeal.
He went to sit beside Mrs. Allison, stooping over her, while they talked in a low key. Very soon she had caught at Marcella's suggestion, with an energy of despair.
"But how can we find him?" she said at last, looking helplessly round the room, at the very chair, among others, where Tressady had just been sitting.
Maxwell felt the humour of the situation without relishing it.
"Either at his own house," he said shortly, "or the House of Commons."