"Does he see no difference," she broke out, "between his position and mine? What consolation--in God's name, what consolation is left to me for the rest of my life but my child? And he threatens to separate us for six months in every year! And he takes credit to himself for an act of exalted justice on his part! Is there no such thing as shame in the hearts of men?"
Under ordinary circumstances, her mother would have tried to calm her. But Mrs. Presty had turned to the next page of the letter, at the moment when her daughter spoke.
What she found written, on that other side, produced a startling effect on her. She crumpled the letter up in her hand, and threw it into the fireplace. It fell under the grate instead of into the grate. With amazing activity for a woman of her age, she ran across the room to burn it. Younger and quicker, Mrs. Linley got to the fireplace first, and seized the letter. "There is something more!" she exclaimed. "And you are afraid of my knowing what it is."
"Don't read it!" Mrs. Presty called out.
There was but one sentence left to read: "If your maternal anxiety suggests any misgiving, let me add that a woman's loving care will watch over our little girl while she is under my roof.
You will remember how fond Miss Westerfield was of Kitty, and you will believe me when I tell you that she is as truly devoted to the child as ever."
"I tried to prevent you from reading it," said Mrs. Presty.
Mrs. Linley looked at her mother with a strange unnatural smile.
"I wouldn't have missed this for anything!" she said. "The cruelest of all separations is proposed to me--and I am expected to submit to it, because my husband's mistress is fond of my child!" She threw the letter from her with a frantic gesture of contempt and burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.
The old mother's instinct--not the old mother's reason--told her what to do. She drew her daughter to the open window, and called to Kitty to come in. The child (still amusing herself by fishing in the lake) laid down her rod. Mrs. Linley saw her running lightly along the little pier, on her way to the house. _That_ influence effected what no other influence could have achieved.
The outraged wife controlled herself, for the sake of her child.
Mrs. Presty led her out to meet Kitty in the garden; waited until she saw them together; and returned to the breakfast-room.
Herbert Linley's letter lay on the floor; his discreet mother-in-law picked it up. It could do no more harm now, and there might be reasons for keeping the husband's proposal.
"Unless I am very much mistaken," Mrs. Presty concluded, "we shall hear more from the lawyer before long." She locked up the letter, and wondered what her daughter would do next.
In half an hour Mrs. Linley returned--pale, silent, self-contained.
She seated herself at her desk; wrote literally one line; signed it without an instant's hesitation, and folded the paper. Before it was secured in the envelope, Mrs. Presty interfered with a characteristic request. "You are writing to Mr. Linley, of course," she said. "May I see it?"
Mrs. Linley handed the letter to her. The one line of writing contained these words: "I refuse positively to part with my child.--Catherine Linley."
"Have you considered what is likely to happen, when he gets this?" Mrs. Presty inquired.
"No, mamma."
"Will you consult Randal?"
"I would rather not consult him."
"Will you let me consult him for you?"
"Thank you--no."
"Why not?"
"After what Randal has written to me, I don't attach any value to his opinion." With that reply she sent her letter to the post, and went back again to Kitty.
After this, Mrs. Presty resolved to wait the arrival of Herbert Linley's answer, and to let events take their course. The view from the window (as she passed it, walking up and down the room) offered her little help in forecasting the future. Kitty had returned to her fishing; and Kitty's mother was walking slowly up and down the pier, deep in thought. Was she thinking of what might happen, and summoning the resolution which so seldom showed itself on ordinary occasions?
