'You see—I have not—' She stopped. 'My little boy is not—Ogden is not living with me just now.'
'At school, eh?'
'No, not at school. Let me tell you the whole position. Mr Ford and I did not get on very well together, and a year ago we were divorced in Washington, on the ground of incompatibility, and—and—'
She choked. His lordship, a young man with a shrinking horror of the deeper emotions, whether exhibited in woman or man, writhed silently. That was the worst of these Americans! Always getting divorced and causing unpleasantness. How was a fellow to know? Why hadn't whoever it was who first introduced them—he couldn't remember who the dickens it was—told him about this? He had supposed she was just the ordinary American woman doing Europe with an affectionate dollar-dispensing husband in the background somewhere.
'Er—' he said. It was all he could find to say.
'And—and the court,' said Mrs Ford, between her teeth, 'gave him the custody of Ogden.'
Lord Mountry, pink with embarrassment, gurgled sympathetically.
'Since then I have not seen Ogden. That was why I was interested when you mentioned your friend Mr Stanborough. It struck me that Mr Ford could hardly object to my having a portrait of my son painted at my own expense. Nor do I suppose that he will, when—if the matter is put to him. But, well, you see it would be premature to make any arrangements at present for having the picture painted on our yacht trip.'
'I'm afraid it knocks that scheme on the head,' said Lord Mountry mournfully.
'Not necessarily.'