No one ever disputed the fact that Mrs. Bladon was a distinctly clever woman. And it proved to be an equally undisputable fact that when Ted Lumsden managed to outwit her he became the hero of the hour. It happened on this wise:
Colonel and Mrs. Bladon had a daughter—and a pretty daughter.
Ted Lumsden was young, good-looking, sufficiently well possessed of this world's goods to be able to regard matrimony as quite a necessary and probably pleasant experiment. Given two young people with youth, beauty, and power of attraction, and the solution of the problem is quite simple.
Ted Lumsden loved Nancy Bladon, whilst Nancy—well, she just tolerated him. That was what she said to him; what her real feelings on the subject were is quite another question.
"'I HATE GOING ABROAD. MOTHER, YOU HAVE SOME OTHER REASON.'"
But there was Mrs. Bladon in the matter, and she, like the clever woman she was, said nothing, but thought the more, until one day when for ten minutes she opened her heart to her husband, and for those ten minutes spoke concisely and to the point.
"You understand, Roger," she concluded, "it is not that I object to Lumsden at all; far from it. But what I do object to is the fact that for years—now don't laugh—years, I repeat, this has been going on, and nothing definite has ever come of it. Either he is in no hurry, or else he means nothing, after the fashion of young men of the present day. Enfin, I do not intend Nancy to be kept in a kind of suspense any longer. If she cares for the boy—well, I am sorry; but my mind is quite made up on one point: I shall not encourage Ted to haunt our house any longer. And I shall make it a good excuse to give Nancy three months on the Continent."
"Après cela—le déluge," muttered Colonel Bladon, lazily. "Well, you know best, my dear; only I don't see why Nancy should be exiled."
"Nonsense; it is no exile to travel for a bit and see a little of the world. At any rate, it will simplify matters, and that is everything."