‘Leo, you are very ill-bred. When you come to your mother’s room, which is not very often, you might pretend, at least, that it was for her you came.’
‘That surely goes without saying, mother. I was not aware when I came that there was any one here.’
‘And you may be very well assured, Cecile, that at all events it was not for the love of me.’
Mrs. Swinford returned to her sofa with an exclamation of impatience.
‘You have all your own objects,’ she said, ‘you are all pursuing your own ends. There is no one who thinks what is best for me. Leo, we were talking on private matters, women’s matters. Now that you have seen Artémise, as you seem to have wished, your good sense will tell you that it is best to go away.’
‘It was not from any desire to see her,’ said Leo. ‘Madame Artémise knows very well what I should be likely to wish in that respect: nor to talk to her, though she is so entertaining, but to know where I may find her, for the sake of others.’
‘Oh yes, we all know what you mean. It is Emily Plowden you mean—it is you who have been backing her up all this time against your mother. I know you, Leo—that it should be against your mother, gives it a zest. You make her think—poor thing!—that it is for her, while your real desire is to expose your mother—to build her up in opposition to me.’
‘I think you must be dreaming,’ he said provoked. ‘Madame Artémise, was it you I saw the other night in the shrubbery? Why did you run away?’
‘Do you call that running away? I wasn’t, however, displeased to have had a little excitement for once. But you see I was not afraid of you, for I have come back.’
‘I don’t know wherein the excitement lies,’ said Leo impatiently. ‘I have a message to give you, that is all.’