“But anyone good enough to marry Alix would have to mind,” said Giles. “Wouldn’t you be the first to say that where she belongs is with the people who do mind? What you really mean”—and Giles heard that his voice became rather bitter as he went on—“is that the daughter of the _demi-mondaine_ must stay in the _demi-monde_. I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t so fond of Alix for herself. I wouldn’t blame you if it were a moral objection; but it isn’t. Those friends of yours are only in because they’ve escaped being divorced. Your objection to Alix is really, when you come to look at it, that her mother is unfortunate.—Isn’t that so?” Yes, Lady Mary reminded him, vividly now, of madame Vervier. Her soft gaze was fixed upon him with something of the same surprise, yet with all of the same security, that madame Vervier’s had shown. Madame Vervier, in Lady Mary’s place, would feel precisely as she did. And he could see madame Vervier, after the little pause, bow her head as Lady Mary bowed hers in saying: “I accept it all. That is my objection. Her mother is too unfortunate. That is exactly what it comes to.” Mrs. Bradley, shut out from her son’s understanding and from Lady Mary’s tolerance, looked from one to the other of them, a deepening flush on her girlish cheeks. “But it’s worse, far worse than unfortunate,” she said. “How could she have lived a life like that with a little daughter to care for? It isn’t as if she had had only to leave a bad husband, Giles. One could have understood that; one could have felt her right. But to have lovers—Don’t say only unfortunate when it’s so much worse.” “I did say she was wrong, you know, Mummy.” Poor Giles rubbed his hand through his hair. “She knows how wrong I think her. I told her. But the point for us is to make up to Alix for her mother’s wrongness, isn’t it?” “We must keep her here,” said Mrs. Bradley. “We must keep her away from her mother’s life. It is too terrible to think of our darling little Alix exposed to such depravity.” “Well, that’s what I felt, you see,” said Giles. Lady Mary was observing him. “You have been making up to Alix from the first, haven’t you, Giles?” she said, and though the kindness of her voice was unaltered there was in it a touch of dryness, too. “You’ve been engaged from the first in rescuing her from the _demi-monde_. It must have been a wonderful scene that between you and madame Vervier, when you told her how wrong you thought her and promised her to do your best to place Alix in another world than hers.” Giles, his hand still clutched in his hair, now stared at Lady Mary, arrested. “It was you who sought Alix out, you know,” he reminded her after a moment. “It wasn’t I who asked for anything for her. You took your chances with Alix, just as we did. It was all on your own responsibility.” “Dear Giles—I don’t blame you in the least for not telling me,” Lady Mary assured him.