"Still, we have to consider them," interrupted Aliette's, lover. "We don't want them to hear the news from--the other side. I think you _should_ write to them, Alie. Mollie I'll go and see myself. Jimmy's sure to know her address. I wonder if she and Jimmy are engaged----" "Your friend Wilberforce," interrupted Julia, "may be an excellent solicitor; but he's an extremely selfish young man." "What makes you say that?" asked Aliette; and as Julia did not reply, "Has he spoken to you--about my sister?" "He has." Julia's voice was rather grim. "And is--what we've done--going to make any difference?" "I think not. But if it does," the suspicion of a twinkle gleamed in the blue eyes, "if it does, my dear, your sister will owe you a great debt of gratitude for--running away with my son. That kind of man," definitely, "is no use." "I've been rather worried about Mollie," began Aliette, whose decision not to await her sister's return had been the most difficult of all the decisions she took in those few hours before she bolted from Lancaster Gate. "That letter of mine----" She broke off the sentence, divining nevertheless that her letter--meant as a precise document--must have been incoherent to the last degree; divining how impossible a situation her selfishness must have created for Mollie. "I _am_ selfish," she said to herself. "Utterly selfish! I deserve no consideration. And yet these two consider only me." "Never mind about Mollie." Stubbornly--for now that his mother had joined forces with them it seemed more than ever necessary that they should bring Brunton swiftly to reason--Ronald Cavendish returned to his point. "The question is: When do I go up to town? In my opinion, the sooner the better. Once I _have_ seen H. B., we shall at least know where we stand." "And suppose," faltered Aliette, "suppose he refuses to see you?" "He won't." "Suppose he refuses to do anything?" "You needn't be afraid of that. A man in his position is bound to take action. If he doesn't----" "If he doesn't," broke in Julia, "we must fight him. We three." She rose from the creaky chair; and Aliette, seeing the determination, the courage in those old eyes, felt suddenly ashamed of her own weakness. "Meanwhile, I think I'll go to bed. Your maid promised to wait up for me." Kissing "that woman" good night, Ronnie's mother whispered: "Don't try to overpersuade him. If he feels it is right--he must be allowed to go." 6 Very early next morning, before dawn lightened to palest rose behind the clematis blossoms, the woman who had left her husband, waking with her lover's arms about her, prayed voicelessly to that God whose priests would henceforth bar her from His communion, that Ronnie's love might endure to the end. For now, Aliette was afraid. CHAPTER XV 1