“I will be both for the present! And soon I will be Mrs. Wynne only. Papa is not well now--worried, and very cross. I began to try and tell him only two nights ago, and his very look paralyzed me. I must have a little more time. As it is, I think, between my visits to the Holt farm and here, I play my two parts extremely well!” “Then you must permit me to differ with you,” said her husband, in a frosty voice. “The part of wife, as played for many months, has certainly been a farce; but, to put the case in a mild form, it has not been a success. As to your _rôle_ of mother, the less said the better.” “Laurence”--aghast, and drawing in her breath--“how can you speak to me in that way? It is not like you!” “How do you know what I am like _now_? People change. And since _you_ are so much changed, you need not be astonished if I am changed too!” “And oh, Laurence, I am so--so angry with you about one thing!” she exclaimed irrelevantly. “I went to the Holts’ on Tuesday and saw Harry; he looks a perfect little angel!” “Is that why you are so angry?” “Nonsense! Why did you tell Mrs. Holt to refuse my money? Why may I not pay for him?” “Because it is not your affair, but mine.” “Not my affair?” she repeated incredulously. “No; it is my business to maintain my son. And I shall certainly not suffer him to be paid for by Mr. West’s money!” “It is mine; he gives it to me for my own use.” “No doubt--to expend in dress and such things. Not for the support of his unknown grandchild. You would be taking his money under false pretences. Your father pays for his daughter’s expenses; I pay for my son’s expenses.” “And I may not?” “No.” He shook his head curtly. “But I am his mother!” she said excitedly. “I thought you had forgotten that! Now, look here, Maddie, I am not going to be put off with words any longer! You cannot run with the hare and hunt with the hounds. You must come home at once. Tell your father the truth, or let _me_ tell him the truth, and make your choice once for all. This double life, where all of it is spent in one sphere, and only the shadow falls on the other, won’t do. Think of your child”--with rising heat--“growing up a stranger to you! Poor chap! he believes that Mrs. Holt is his mother. I--I try and see him; but what good am I? I’m only a man, and not much of a hand with small children. Madeline, this cursed money has poisoned your mind! Admiration has turned your head. You are no more what you once were----”