There was silence a moment. Lady Tatham continued to look at her son. The
eyebrows on her brow, as they slowly arched themselves, expressed the
half-amused, half-startled inquiry she did not put into words. He flushed
scarlet, still smiling, and suddenly he laid his hand on hers.

"I say, mummie, don't tease me, and don't talk to me about it. There may
be nothing in it--nothing at all."

His mother's face deepened into gravity.

"You take my breath away. Remember--there's only me, Harry, to look after
you."

"I know. But you're not like other mothers," said the youth impatiently.
"You want me to be happy and please myself. At least if you'd wanted the
usual thing, you should have brought me up differently!" He smiled upon
her again, patting her hand.

"What do you mean by the 'usual thing'?"

"Well, family and money, I suppose. As if we hadn't got enough for ten!"

Lady Tatham hesitated.

"One talks in the air," she said, frowning a little. "I can't promise
you, Harry, exactly how I should behave, if--"

"If what?"