"Oh, you imprudent children!" she cried an hour later, meeting them in a broad verandah overlooking the sea. "You impetuous, inconsiderate, absurd pair of children. And to come to Long Branch, of all places. Do you know how much a day it costs to live here? And what about gowns, Adéline? You can scarcely come down to breakfast, even once, in that travelling suit, and assuredly you must not be seen in it again after half-past eleven."
"We came to you, mother, because we had no one else," said Randolph. "Adéline has run away, without a single thing, unless Mlle. Petitôt should send her some clothes, and that depends on the maid's being able to throw them over the garden wall."
"You pair of babies! Adéline, the very wisest thing that you can do is to go right back home again."
"They'd stick her into a convent, mother. Her father told me himself he meant to. Besides, she's your daughter now as much as his. We stopped over in New York yesterday and got married."
"Good gracious! I never heard anything so preposterous. And how do you propose to live?"
"We mean to live with you, mother, to comfort your failing years like dutiful children?"
"Well, now, that really is kind of you, I must say. The sooner I get back to my quiet little house at St. Euphrase, then, the better. I cannot afford to support a family of three at Long Branch. It costs a great deal too much for the mere living, not to speak of the dressing. Again, at St. Euphrase, I can make you young people work for your board, as, of course, being honest, you would like. Randolph shall dig the garden and Adéline shall milk the cows. That will save me two servants' wages."
"Mais, madame," whimpered Adéline, "Randolphe has me promessed to come to Long Branch for to see ze gaieties."
"My child, you have no clothes to appear in. You will have to look at the gaieties from your bedroom window, and even your meals will have to be brought you. Are you aware that three new gowns every day is the smallest number in which any self-respecting woman can appear at Long Branch? You need not smile, it is no laughing matter. You will compromise me hopelessly if you come downstairs, and, I may add, that any things Mlle. Petitôt may send you will not help you here. Tailor-made gowns are de rigueur, and above all, they must be indubitably new, and worn for the very first time. I would recommend a bilious attack, my dear; keep your room. And, after all, a fictitious attack of bile is better than the real thing. I will arrange for our going back to Canada, and with that view, perhaps, I had better begin by writing your mother. She will be anxious to know what has become of you, and I dare say I shall be able to make your peace now, more easily than later."
"Ah! Chère madame, do not write. Zey vill send me to ze couvent. I know so vell. And never to come out again. And zere I shall be made make ze grande rétraite for always for marrying me vidout consent. And it will be so triste, have pitié, ma mere."