Norma grew white.
“And this is what you told my mother?”
“I thought I ought to,” said Morland, looking away from the anxious faces around him.
“You shouldn't have done it,” said Jimmie, in a low voice. He was bent like a guilty person.
Norma went to the door and opened it.
“Kindly see my mother into a cab.”
“Please take the brougham,” said Connie. “Norma and I will take a cab later.”
Morland made a movement as if to speak to Jimmie. Norma intercepted him, waved her hand towards her mother, who stood motionless.
“Go. Please go,” she said in a constrained voice. “Take the brougham. She will catch cold while you are whistling for a cab—and you will be the sooner gone.”
Mrs. Hardacre, stunned by the utter disaster that she had brought about, mechanically obeyed Morland's gesture and passed through the open door, without looking at her daughter. As Morland passed her, he plucked up a little courage.