Looking at her now in this new way, he was also able to see that she herself was changed. She figured definitely as an actor now with an odd white intensity in her face, with some mysterious purpose in her eyes, with a resolve in the whole poise of her body that seemed to add to her height. "Well," she said, "what train are you taking up to London?" "What train?" he repeated after her. "Yes, to see Falk." "I am not going to see Falk." "You're not going up to him?" "Why should I go?" "Why should you go? _You_ can ask me that?...To stop this terrible marriage." "I don't intend to stop it." There was a pause. She seemed to summon every nerve in her body to her control. The twitching of her fingers against her dress was her only movement. "Would you please tell me what you mean to do? After all, I am his mother." The tenderness that he had felt at first sight of her was increasing so strangely that it was all he could do not to go over to her. But his horror of any demonstration kept him where he was. "Amy, dear," he said, "I've had a dreadful day--in every way a terrible day. I haven't had time, as things have gone, to think things out. I want to be fair. I want to do the right thing. I do indeed. I don't think there's anything to be gained by going up to London. One thing only now I'm clear about. He's got to marry the girl now he's gone off with her. To do him justice he intends to do that. He says that he has done her no harm, and we must take his word for that. Falk has been many things-- careless, reckless, selfish, but never in all his life dishonourable. If I went up now we should quarrel, and perhaps something irreparable would occur. Even though he was persuaded to return, the mischief is done. He must be just to the girl. Every one in the town knows by now that she went with him--her father has been busy proclaiming the news even though there has been no one else." Mrs. Brandon said nothing. She had made in herself the horrible discovery, after reading Falk's letter, that her thoughts were not upon Falk at all, but upon Morris. Falk had flouted her; not only had he not wanted her, but he had gone off with a common girl of the town. She had suddenly no tenderness for him, no anger against him, no thought of him except that his action had removed the last link that held her. She was gazing now at Morris with all her eyes. Her brain was fastened upon him with an intensity sufficient almost to draw him, hypnotised, there to her feet. Her husband, her home, Polchester, these things were like dim shadows. "So you will do nothing?" she said. "I must wait," he said, "I know that when I act hastily I act badly...." He paused, looked at her doubtfully, then with great hesitation went on: "We are together in this, Amy. I've been--I've been--thinking of myself and my work perhaps too much in the past. We've got to see this through together." "Yes," she answered, "together." But she was thinking of Morris. Chapter VIII