‘Never mind,’ interposed his mother. ‘Well, to think it should come to this! I’m sure I feel for poor Mrs. Eldon. Really there is no end to her misfortunes.’ ‘Just how such families always end up,’ observed Alfred complacently. ‘No doubt he’ll drink himself to death, or something of that kind, and then we shall have the pleasure of seeing a new tablet in the church, inscribed with manifold virtues; or even a stained-glass window: the last of the Eldons deserves something noteworthy.’ ‘I think it’s hardly a subject for joking, Alfred. It is very, very sad. And to think what a fine handsome boy he used to be! But he was always dreadfully self-willed.’ ‘He was always an impertinent puppy! How he’ll play the swell on his wife’s earnings! Oh, our glorious aristocracy!’ Mrs. Waltham went early to her daughter’s room. Adela was sitting with her Bible before her--had sat so since coming upstairs, yet had not read three consecutive verses. Her face showed no effect of tears, for the heat of a consuming suspense had dried the fountains of woe. ‘I don’t like to occupy your mind with such things, my dear,’ began her mother, ‘but perhaps as a warning I ought to show you the news Alfred spoke of. It pleases Providence that there should be evil in the world, and for our own safety we must sometimes look it in the face, especially we poor women, Adela. Will you read that?’ Adela read. She could not criticise the style, but it affected her as something unclean; Hubert’s very name suffered degradation when used in such a way. Prepared for worse things than that which she saw, no shock of feelings was manifest in her. She returned the paper without speaking. ‘I wanted you to see that my behaviour to Mr. Eldon was not unjustified,’ said her mother. ‘You don’t blame me any longer, dear?’ ‘I have never blamed you, mother.’ ‘It is a sad, sad end to what might have been a life of usefulness and honour. I have thought so often of the parable of the talents; only I fear this case is worse. His poor mother! I wonder if I could write to her! Yet I hardly know how to.’ ‘Is this a--a wicked woman, mother?’ Adela asked falteringly. Mrs. Waltham shook her head and sighed. ‘My love, don’t you see that she is an actress?’ ‘But if all actresses are wicked, how is it that really good people go to the theatre?’ ‘I am afraid they oughtn’t to. The best of us are tempted into thoughtless pleasure. But now I don’t want you to brood over things which it is a sad necessity to have to glance at. Read your chapter, darling, and get to bed.’