"I beg your pardon," said Lady Mary; make allowance for me this once.
I learnt ten minutes ago that my boy was going to the war. I must
either laugh or--or cry, and you wouldn't like me to do that; but it's
a way women have when their hearts are half broken."

"I don't understand you," he said helplessly.

Lady Mary looked at him as though she had awakened, frightened, to the
consciousness of her own temerity.

"I don't quite understand myself, I think," she said, in a subdued
voice. "I won't torment you any more, Timothy; I will be as calm and
collected--as you wish. Only let me go."

"Will you not listen to my reason for wishing you to remain at home?"
he said sternly. "It is an important one."

"I had forgotten," she said indifferently. "How can there be any
business in the world half so important to _me_ as seeing my boy once
more before he sails?"

The colour of Sir Timothy's ruddy face deepened almost to purple, his
grey eyes glowered sullen resentment at his wife.

"Since you desire to have your way in opposition to my wishes, _go!_"
he thundered. "I will not hinder you further."

But his sonorous wrath was too familiar to be impressive.

Lady Mary's expression scarcely changed when Sir Timothy raised his