And she, like her husband, was immeasurably comforted by the news that there would be no proceedings. "His career won't suffer, father." She seemed to draw herself up, as though on the brink of moral laxity. "But, of course, it must be put a stop to at once." She read a passage in Godfrey's letter again. "Oh, what a goose the boy is! His head's turned; you can see that. I suppose she's pretty--or what they call smart, perhaps." "The whole thing is deplorable, but the grossest feature is the woman's effrontery." The effrontery was all the woman's--an unkind view, but perhaps in this case more unkind than unjust. "How could she look you in the face, mother?" Mr. Ledstone squeezed his wife's hand sympathetically. "Well, we must get him away from her as soon as possible." A pessimist--one of those easily discouraged mortals who repine at nothing being effected within the brief span of their own generation--might liken the world to a ponderous ball, whereunto are attached five thousand strings. At the end of each somebody is tugging hard; but all of them are tugging in different directions. Universal effort, universal fatigue--and the big ball remains exactly where it was! Here was Winnie, heart and soul in her crusade, holding it great, almost holy. But the only idea in Woburn Square was to put an end to it as soon as possible!--And meanwhile to cover it up, to keep it quiet, to preserve the possibility of being able to say no more about it as soon as it was happily over. No proceedings! What a comfort! "Of course we can have nothing to do with her. But what about him--while it lasts, I mean?" Mr. Ledstone propounded the question. "We ought to mark our--our horror." "Yes, father, but we can't abandon the poor boy because he's been deluded. What do you think, Amy? After all, you're a grown-up woman now." (Mrs. Ledstone was defending herself against an inward sense of indelicacy in referring to the matter before her unmarried daughter.) "Oh, the more we can get him here, the better," was Amy's view. "He'll realize how we feel about it then." "Amy's right," the father declared emphatically. "And so are you, mother. We mustn't abandon him. We must bring our influence to bear." "I want to hear the poor boy's own story--not a letter written with the woman at his elbow," said Mrs. Ledstone. "Will he come without her?" Amy asked. "Without her--or not at all! It's my duty to shield you and your mother, Amy. And now, really, I must read my paper." In the excitement of the morning, in his haste to find Cyril Maxon, in his terror of proceedings, he had omitted the rite. "I haven't been through the wash yet," said Mrs. Ledstone. "It's time for Snip's walk," added Amy. Life had to go on, in spite of Winnie Maxon--just as we read that some people lived their ordinary routine throughout the French Revolution.