"Harry, dear boy, for both your sakes—either all or nothing! If she doesn't care—break it off."
"There's nothing to break off, dearest. And don't ask me not to see her.
I couldn't. Who knows? She's got her ideas. Of course I've got mine.
Perhaps—after all—I may win. Or, if not—perhaps"—he shaded his face
with his hand—"she'll show me—how not to mind. I know she wants to."
Silence a moment. Then the lad's hand dropped. He smiled at Victoria.
"Let's fall in! There's nothing else to do anyway. She's not like other girls. When she says a thing—she means it. But so long as I can see her—I'm happy!"
"You ought to forget her!" said Victoria angrily, kissing his hair.
"These things should end—one way or the other."
He looked perplexed.
"She doesn't think so—and I'm thankful she doesn't, mother—don't say anything to her. Promise me. She said last night—she loved you. She wants to come here. Let's give her a jolly time. Perhaps—"
The patience in his blue eyes nearly made her cry. And there was also the jealousy that no fond mother escapes, the commonest of all jealousies. He was passing out of her hands, this creature of her own flesh. Till now she had moulded and shaped him. Henceforward the lightest influence rained by this girl's eyes would mean more to him than all the intensity of her own affection.
* * * * *
Victoria's mind for the rest of the sitting was in a state of abstraction, and she sat so still that Delorme was greatly pleased with her. At luncheon she was still absent-minded, and Lady Barbara whispered in Gerald Tatham's ear that Victoria was always a poor hostess, but this time her manners were really impossible.