She rose and replaced her cheque-book in her bag.
"I think, my good girl, you must be mad," she said; "if you will
not allow me to do anything for you, there's an end to the matter.
I did not come here to quarrel with you. My son knows his duty to
me and to his family. You must take your own course, and I must
take mine."
"Very well, my lady," said Mary Sewell, holding the door open for
her ladyship to pass out, "we shall see who wins."
But however brave a front Mary Sewell may have maintained before
the enemy, I expect she felt pretty limp when thinking matters
calmly over after her ladyship's departure. She knew her lover
well enough to guess that he would be as wax in the firm hands of
his mother, while she herself would not have a chance of opposing
her influence against those seeking to draw him away from her.
Once again she read through the few schoolboy letters he had
written her, and then looked up at the framed photograph that hung
above the mantelpiece of her little bedroom. The face was that of
a frank, pleasant-looking young fellow, lightened by eyes somewhat
large for a man, but spoiled by a painfully weak mouth.
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