“Very well, let me know first,” with emphasis, “when he comes. Wait for me in my bedroom, Susanne,” and Mrs. Meredith crossed the boudoir. Not stopping to knock on the panel of the closed door, she opened it, and stepped inside her daughter’s room. Anne looked up from the couch where she had thrown herself twenty minutes before, and at sight of her mother, half rose.
“Don’t get up.” Mrs. Meredith drew a chair over to the couch and seated herself. At her air of conscious rectitude Anne’s heart sank. “There is something I wish to discuss with you.” Unconsciously Anne braced herself; her mother’s “something” was sure to be disagreeable—it generally was. “I noticed, Anne, that during the funeral services you sat in the same pew with Doctor Curtis.”
“Yes, mother, I did.” Anne judged she was expected to answer as Mrs. Meredith came to a full pause.
“And you took his arm and walked with him afterward from the chapel to the grave?”
“I did.” She gazed full at her mother. “He is blind, you know.”
“So that was it—philanthropy.” Mrs. Meredith nodded her head, well satisfied. “But, my child, don’t let your kind heart run away with our discretion. It is no longer necessary to cultivate Doctor Curtis’ acquaintance.”
“I beg your pardon, mother.” Anne’s heart was beating a bit more rapidly. “I do not agree with you.”
Mrs. Meredith sat back in her chair. “When you take that tone, Anne, I know you are going to be obstinate. But you must listen to me. The so-called ‘engagement’ between you and Doctor Curtis is at an end.”
“On what grounds?” meeting her mother’s eyes. “Expediency?”
“Anne, how dare you?”