She looked at him now for several moments. Her eyes grew moist. Then
she resumed, in a lower voice--

'I said nothing of what was at stake, though I knew. Mr. Mutimer was
perfectly open with me. "I have trusted him implicitly," he said,
"because I believe him as staunch and true as his brother. I make no
allowances for what are called young man's follies: he must be above
anything of that kind. If he is not--well, I have been mistaken in
him, and I can't deal with him as I wish to do." You know what he
was, Hubert, and you can imagine him speaking those words. We
waited. The bad news was confirmed, and from you there came nothing.
I would not hint at the loss you were incurring; of my own purpose I
should have refrained from doing so, and Mr. Mutimer forbade me to
appeal to anything but your better self. If you would not come to me
because I wished it, I could not involve you and myself in shame by
seeing you yield to sordid motives.'

Hubert raised his head. A choking voice kept him silent for a moment
only.

'Mother, the loss is nothing to you; you are above regrets of that
kind; and for myself, I am almost glad to have lost it.'

'In very truth,' answered the mother, 'I care little about the
wealth you might have possessed. What I do care for is the loss of
all the hopes I had built upon you. I thought you honour itself; I
thought you high-minded. Young as you are, I let you go from me
without a fear. Hubert, I would have staked my life that no shadow
of disgrace would ever fall upon your head! You have taken from me
the last comfort of my age.'