"I know that," she replied. "That's what's wrong with the world. Everyone should stay in his own country!"
The dinner had not entirely pleased John. Somehow, in a way that he could not understand, he found himself being edged out of the conversation, not altogether, but as a principal. His mother and Eleanor addressed each other primarily; they only addressed him now and then and in a way that seemed to indicate that they had suddenly remembered his presence and were afraid he might feel hurt at being left out of their talk. He was glad, of course, that his mother and Eleanor were getting on so well together, but after all he was in charge of this affair.... When his mother proposed to Eleanor that they should meet on the following evening and go somewhere for a quiet talk, he could hardly believe his ears.
"But what about me?" he said.
"Oh, you! You'll do rightly!" his mother replied.
"But!..."
"You can come and bring me home from wherever we go," Mrs. MacDermott continued.
Eleanor had suggested that Mrs. MacDermott should meet her at the bookstall and go to her club from which John would fetch her at ten o'clock.
"That'll do nicely, Eleanor!" Mrs. MacDermott said.
John hardly noticed that his mother had called Eleanor by her Christian name: it seemed natural that she should do so; but he was vaguely disturbed by the arrangement that had just been made.
"I wonder what she's up to?" he said to himself as he moodily examined his mother's face.