“It would kill him to leave his father and——”
“Pooh! Let us not indulge ourselves in heroics.”
“But the boy is not to blame. It is not his fault that——”
“No. It is his misfortune. But in that misfortune I do not propose that our family is to be involved. Edgar, do listen to reason. If the boy chooses Pine Croft and his father and—that—that whole menage, as I have said, let him choose, but that must end all intercourse with us.”
“But why, Augusta? In the name of all that’s reasonable and sane, why? A boy like that—I can’t see——”
“Oh, Edgar, you can be so tiresome. You can’t see? Can’t you see that the boy is thirteen—and Peg nearly eleven, and adores him, and——”
The Colonel drew his horse to a standstill. “Peg!” he gasped. “Peggy! Good Lord! Peggy! That infant! Is it that you have been driving at? Well, I’m——” The Colonel’s laugh rang out long and loud. His wife, whose horse was now facing his, gazed at him, with flushed face and glistening eyes.
“My dear, you must forgive me,” said the Colonel hurriedly. “I apologise most humbly. But, really, you know, the thing is so—so grotesque. Please forgive me. I can’t see it otherwise, really, Augusta.”
“No, I hardly expected you to see it.”
“But those children, Augusta! I do hope you will forgive me.”