"Mother, what had you been saying to her?" Charles tried to speak gently. He saw that here was something that needed careful handling. He blamed himself inwardly that he had not had more forethought than to prevent a meeting between the two while his mother was still wrought up over his brother Harrington. "What had _I_ been saying to _her_? Indeed, Charles, you forget yourself! You would better ask what had _she_ been saying to _me_." In her indignation, Madam Winthrop rose on one elbow and faced her son. "I had been most kind and patient and forgiving. I had made up my mind for your sake to put everything by, and I sent for her to tell her so. I told her I would forgive her all she had done to spoil your brother’s life and yours——" "Mother! You never told her that!" Charles towered above the little woman in the bed, every inch of his manhood roused in honest indignation. "I certainly did," said the mother, her own anger rising anew. "I explained the whole matter to her, and told her I would forgive her entirely. And then just because I suggested some things she might do to help you who are so young and inexperienced, and who had so generously given up all your own ambitions just to save her from a few hours’ mortification, she got very angry. She turned perfectly white, and her eyes looked like two devils. You wouldn’t have known your pretty little angel if you had seen her. I will admit, of course, that she is pretty, but ’handsome is that handsome does’ is a very true adage. You will find it out yet. She was most insulting—told me that I was lying, or words to that effect—and then she got off the most extraordinary yarn about not knowing she had married you. I told her she must know I couldn’t believe such a story as that, and, now that I think it over, I don’t see how she can be quite right in her mind. Perhaps Harrington had suspected as much and took this way of getting out of a most unfortunate union, and you were so blind that you just jumped in head-foremost, without ever waiting to make an inquiry——" "Mother, stop!" Charles’s face was white, and his voice was trembling with suppressed horror. "Remember you are talking about my wife!" "Yes, your wife!" exclaimed his mother, beginning to cry. "That’s the way it goes. A child forgets all his mother has ever done, the minute he sees a pretty, silly face." Then she sat up with sudden resolution. "Well, _take_ your wife and go _out of my house_, then, if you and she are going to combine against me, and dictate to me how I shall talk!" Then with a moan she threw herself back upon her pillows and lost consciousness again.