“I blame her—yes,” I said. “I think she has been foolish: she has wronged herself and you; she has flung away treasures of pride. But you must remember that I don’t know her; I have no idea of the strength of her temptation; and in any case I cannot consider everything lost. The error is not irreparable. It is according to Nature. At its worst, apart from a criminal want of prudence, it is but an anticipation of a ceremony.” “Then you think we should condone it? Keep her among us?” “Within touch, most certainly,” I said. “Don’t exile her. This is when she wants kindness more than at any time in her life—this is when you have your first real opportunity to be her mother. You ought to jump at it instead of suddenly freezing into a judge.” “But the disgrace?” “Well, you must exercise a little discretion, of course, and do all you can to preserve her good name. Many a family has been confronted with the same problem and carried it off with success.” I had it in my mind to add that if no cupboard held a worse skeleton than an unlegalized baby there would not be much wrong with the world; but I refrained. I refrained also from reminding her of the line in “Lear”, “The gods stand up for bastards.” Mrs. Stratton could not have understood, nor was she in the mood for any levity. Indeed, I was perplexing her sufficiently, all unready as she was for such novel ideas as I had been unfolding. “What does Stratton say?” I was moved to ask, to break her silence. “George?--Oh, he doesn’t know about it. I wanted to see you first.” “You must tell him,” I said. “You’ll find that he will agree with me.” “Won’t you come back with me?” she asked. “It would all be so much easier if you would. Angelica might tell you things that she won’t tell me. I don’t mean the man’s name—no one could get that from her. I am sure you could help. It would be such a load off my mind if you would come.” And I had of course to comply. I could not leave instantly, and while I was making the preparations I was amused to see, out of the window, Mrs. Stratton stealthily approaching the kitchen door. She knew that Suzanne ruled there, and her mind had by no means relinquished France as an ally! I discovered afterwards that my guess had been right. But Suzanne had as little practical sympathy as Mrs. Stratton had colloquial French, and the interview was a complete failure. There are delicacies of situation beyond Ollendorff’s range. If Mrs. Stratton assured me once on the journey, she assured me thirty times, that she would never be able to hold up her head again.