She paused again, but still Julian did not speak; still he did not raise his eyes. She went on with a growing insistence in her voice which went hand in hand with a growing agony of appeal: “If you don’t see the necessity now, you must believe me when I tell you that you will--you will. Look, dear! your life is surely not so dull that you need run after such distraction as that! You shall marry if you want to. You shall marry any one you like. But you must--you must give this up. Julian----” She stopped for a moment, and her voice grew thin, almost faint, as she pressed so heavily on the carving by which she held that her hand was bruised and blackened. “Julian, I am not telling you what it has been to me to know that you have deceived me. I am not going to try and make you feel--I don’t want you to feel it, dear--what it has been to me to go over your home-life of the last few weeks and know that you have lied to me at every turn--to me, who have only wanted to make you happy. I won’t reproach you. Perhaps young men think it a kind of right--a kind of right----” She repeated the sentence, unfinished as it was, as though it contained an idea to which she clung. “It is not for my sake--to spare my feelings, that I tell you you must give it up. It is for your own. Julian, my boy, you must believe me.” Her words, quivering with entreaty, died away; her eyes, full of supplication, were fixed on his; and Julian spoke--spoke without lifting his eyes from the ground. “Suppose I married her?” he said in a low, shamefaced voice. “What!” The monosyllable rang out sharp and vibrating, and Mrs. Romayne, all softness or relaxation struck from her face and figure in one sudden bracing of every muscle, stood staring at him out of eyes alive with horror. “Suppose--I married--her!” “Supposing that--I will tell you! You would have to keep her and yourself! You would have no more of my money, and you would never be acknowledged in my house again!” Her low voice was like fine, cold steel, and she paused. Then quite suddenly, as though the horror kept at bay in her eyes had leapt up and mastered her in an instant, she flung out her hands wildly, crying: “Julian, Julian! You are not married? Tell me, tell me you are not married?” And Julian, white to the very lips, said low and hurriedly: “No!” There was a long silence. With a choked, hysterical cry, Mrs. Romayne dropped into a chair near her, and covered her face with her hands. Julian drew out his pocket-handkerchief and mechanically wiped his forehead. At last he began, in a nervous, uneven voice: “Mother, look here, I--you don’t quite understand me! I--she--it’s--it’s not the kind of girl you think!” He stopped and drew his hand desperately before his eyes. That innocent, white face, in its dingy frame, what did it want before his eyes now? How could he get on if he kept looking at it? “She--we--it was my fault! Mother, look here, I ought!”