“Yes, but not now—wait till I’m myself again. Cardy, can you—will you let me come into your life again?”
“We can discuss that later, I wish to show you my daughter first.”
He went straight to his sitting-room.
“Mornice,” he said. “Our landlady—she—she’s your mother. I want you to come with me.”
Mornice gasped, but made no articulate reply. Hand in hand, they entered Mrs. Montmorency’s boudoir.
It occupied a full five seconds before Mrs. Montmorency grasped the situation; when she did, she sat bolt upright and exclaimed, “O God!” in the most colloquial way imaginable.
Mornice said nothing, which in the circumstances was the best thing to do.
“Well,” said Eliphalet, “is there anything to be gained by continuing the scene?”
Mrs. Montmorency rose and gave herself away.
“Well, you were earning a good living, weren’t you?” she demanded of Mornice. “My—er—friend didn’t like children, and I had my own way to make. Then when I met Mr. Montmorency abroad, and told him about you, he couldn’t be bothered.”