Mrs. Montgomery stood on the terrace and watched the receding figure of Phillip Lawson until he had crossed Queen Square and turned Charlotte street. She then returned to the parlor, and finding Mr. Verne sitting as if in deep study, was about to retire when he quietly motioned her to a seat.
"Sit down here. Our young friend has gone, and it seems as if he took all the sunshine with him, for I feel more prosy than ever."
"You need not try to hide your feelings from me, Stephen; it is of no use. I am here to help you all I can, and much as it will cost you I must hear your trouble. Heaven knows I would gladly do all that lies within my power."
Mrs. Montgomery's bustling and blustering nature had now become calm and gentle as a child as she sat beside her brother-in-law and poured into his ear such words of sympathy and encouragement as she could honestly give.
"We will not blame her altogether," said Mr. Verne. "She was young and fond of gaiety, and I thought that in course of time our natures should blend together, but sad to say, with coming years the breach widened. She went into society and I took refuge in seclusion."
"Stephen, you need not try to smooth matters!" exclaimed Mrs. Montgomery, allowing her temper to get aroused. "She is all to blame. Matilda is a fool, and I would tell her so if she stood face to face with me to-night!"
Mr. Verne did not raise his eyes, for he did not wish his companion to see the look of desperation settled there.
"And to think of the manner in which poor Marguerite is dragged over the continent for the sake of hunting up a grand match is something beyond endurance."
"It is all too true, Hester," moaned the grief-stricken husband. "It is all too true."
"And I would oppose it to the bitter end, Stephen. Yes, I would face poverty a thousand times rather than see a child of mine subjected to such indignity. I have watched Matilda's high-handed work with keen interest, I have noted everything, and if she thinks she has hoodwinked me I pity her delusion."