"He's all right," said the mother quickly, "and rather useful just now. He's a great friend of Lady Leason's and moves in a very good set."
"Well—don't allow any nonsense there. He don't come here to see me! And he don't seem to do any work—I can't stand his 'haw, haw' style."
The door banged behind him loudly.
Mrs. Cadell took up her pen, but held it a moment, absently, gazing out on the Mayfair street, empty at this early hour.
Did her daughter like McTaggart? That was the question she asked herself. Was his society the reason that Cydonia of late had seemed to quicken, to lose her slumbering childish calm?
And if so...? She frowned at the thought. Then she sighed. Ebenezer was right. But the mother-love warred within her with the ambition of her life. All the happiness she had missed!—she reached for it with nervous hands, longing to pile it, height on height, into the lap of her only child.
And, as if her thoughts had drawn the girl, Cydonia, that moment, entered the room.
"Am I disturbing you, Madre, dear?"
She stood there, radiant, in coat and hat; the fair face full of life, an eager look in the soft brown eyes. There seemed a little suppressed air of excitement in her bearing.
Helen stretched out her hand. Her daughter took it indifferently, pressed it lightly and let it fall.