"John is fastidious, too," began Mrs. Blunt again. "Of course you

wouldn't suppose anything vulgar in his resistances to a very real
sentiment. One has got to understand his psychology. He can't

leave himself in peace. He is exquisitelyabsurd."
I recognized the phrase. Mother and son talked of each other in

identical terms. But perhaps "exquisitelyabsurd" was the Blunt
family saying? There are such sayings in families and generally

there is some truth in them. Perhaps this old woman was simply
absurd. She continued:

"We had a most painfuldiscussion all this morning. He is angry
with me for suggesting the very thing his whole being desires. I

don't feel guilty. It's he who is tormenting himself with his
infinite scrupulosity."

"Ah," I said, looking at the mangled dummy like the model of some
atrocious murder. "Ah, the fortune. But that can be left alone."

"What nonsense! How is it possible? It isn't contained in a bag,
you can't throw it into the sea. And moreover, it isn't her fault.

I am astonished that you should have thought of that vulgar
hypocrisy. No, it isn't her fortune that cheeks my son; it's

something much more subtle. Not so much her history as her
position. He is absurd. It isn't what has happened in her life.

It's her very freedom that makes him torment himself and her, too -
as far as I can understand."

I suppressed a groan and said to myself that I must really get away
from there.

Mrs. Blunt was fairly launched now.
"For all his superiority he is a man of the world and shares to a

certain extent its current opinions. He has no power over her.
She intimidates him. He wishes he had never set eyes on her. Once

or twice this morning he looked at me as if he could find it in his
heart to hate his old mother. There is no doubt about it - he

loves her, Monsieur George. He loves her, this poor, luckless,
perfect homme du monde."

The silence lasted for some time and then I heard a murmur: "It's
a matter of the utmostdelicacy between two beings so sensitive, so

proud. It has to be managed."
I found myself suddenly on my feet and saying with the utmost

politeness that I had to beg her permission to leave her alone as I
had an engagement; but she motioned me simply to sit down - and I

sat down again.
"I told you I had a request to make," she said. "I have understood

from Mr. Mills that you have been to the West Indies, that you have
some interests there."

I was astounded. "Interests! I certainly have been there," I
said, "but . . ."

She caught me up. "Then why not go there again? I am speaking to
you frankly because . . ."

"But, Madame, I am engaged in this affair with Dona Rita, even if I
had any interests elsewhere. I won't tell you about the importance

of my work. I didn't suspect it but you brought the news of it to
me, and so I needn't point it out to you."

And now we were frankly arguing with each other.
"But where will it lead you in the end? You have all your life

before you, all your plans, prospects, perhaps dreams, at any rate
your own tastes and all your life-time before you. And would you

sacrifice all this to - the Pretender? A mere figure for the front
page of illustrated papers."'

"I never think of him," I said curtly, "but I suppose Dona Rita's
feelings, instincts, call it what you like - or only her chivalrous

fidelity to her mistakes - "
"Dona Rita's presence here in this town, her withdrawal from the

possible complications of her life in Paris has produced an
excellent effect on my son. It simplifies infinite difficulties, I

mean moral as well as material. It's extremely to the advantage of
her dignity, of her future, and of her peace of mind. But I am

thinking, of course, mainly of my son. He is most exacting."
I felt extremely sick at heart. "And so I am to drop everything

and vanish," I said, rising from my chair again. And this time
Mrs. Blunt got up, too, with a lofty and inflexible manner but she

didn't dismiss me yet.
"Yes," she said distinctly" target="_blank" title="ad.清楚地，明晰地">distinctly. "All this, my dear Monsieur George, is

such an accident. What have you got to do here? You look to me
like somebody who would find adventures wherever he went as

interesting and perhaps less dangerous than this one."
She slurred over the word dangerous but I picked it up.

"What do you know of its dangers, Madame, may I ask?" But she did
not condescend to hear.

"And then you, too, have your chivalrous feelings," she went on,
unswerving, distinct, and tranquil. "You are not absurd. But my

son is. He would shut her up in a convent for a time if he could."
"He isn't the only one," I muttered.

"Indeed!" she was startled, then lower, "Yes. That woman must be
the centre of all sorts of passions," she mused audibly. "But what

have you got to do with all this? It's nothing to you."
She waited for me to speak.

"Exactly, Madame," I said, "and therefore I don't see why I should
concern myself in all this one way or another."

"No," she assented with a weary air, "except that you might ask
yourself what is the good of tormenting a man of noble feelings,

however absurd. His Southern blood makes him very violent
sometimes. I fear - " And then for the first time during this

conversation, for the first time since I left Dona Rita the day
before, for the first time I laughed.

"Do you mean to hint, Madame, that Southern gentlemen are dead
shots? I am aware of that - from novels."

I spoke looking her straight in the face and I made that exquisite,
aristocratic old woman positively blink by my directness. There

was a faint flush on her delicate old cheeks but she didn't move a
muscle of her face. I made her a most respectful bow and went out

of the studio.
CHAPTER IV

Through the great arched window of the hall I saw the hotel
brougham waiting at the door. On passing the door of the front

room (it was originally meant for a drawing-room but a bed for
Blunt was put in there) I banged with my fist on the panel and

shouted: "I am obliged to go out. Your mother's carriage is at
the door." I didn't think he was asleep. My view now was that he

was aware beforehand of the subject of the conversation, and if so
I did not wish to appear as if I had slunk away from him after the

interview. But I didn't stop - I didn't want to see him - and
before he could answer I was already half way up the stairs running

noiselessly up the thick carpet which also covered the floor of the
landing. Therefore opening the door of my sitting-room quickly I

caught by surprise the person who was in there watching the street
half concealed by the window curtain. It was a woman. A totally

unexpected woman. A perfect stranger. She came away quickly to
meet me. Her face was veiled and she was dressed in a dark walking

costume and a very simple form of hat. She murmured: "I had an
idea that Monsieur was in the house," raising a gloved hand to lift

her veil. It was Rose and she gave me a shock. I had never seen
her before but with her little black silk apron and a white cap

with ribbons on her head. This outdoor dress was like a disguise.
I asked anxiously:

"What has happened to Madame?"
"Nothing. I have a letter," she murmured, and I saw it appear

between the fingers of her extended hand, in a very white envelope
which I tore open impatiently. It consisted of a few lines only.