The facile tears began to flow down Mrs. Clibborn's well-powdered cheeks.
"I know he loves me. You can't deceive a woman and a mother."
"You're double his age!"
"These boys always fall in love with women older than themselves; I've noticed it so often. And he's almost told me in so many words, though I'm sure I've given him no encouragement."
"Fiddlesticks, Clara!"
"You wouldn't believe me when I told you that poor Algy Turner loved me, and he killed himself."
"Nothing of the kind; he died of cholera."
"Reginald," retorted Mrs. Clibborn, with asperity, "his death was most mysterious. None of the doctors understood it. If he didn't poison himself, he died of a broken heart. And I think you're very unkind to me."
With some difficulty, being a heavy woman, she lifted herself from the floor; and by the time she was safely on her feet, Mrs. Clibborn was blowing and puffing like a grampus.
The Colonel, whose mind had wandered to other things, suddenly bethought himself that he had a duty to perform.