"Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. ” He asked questions and listened to her views for a time. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. You might tell the truth to some men, but never to him. “I tell you it was a lie!” he shouted wildly. ’ ‘Dunderhead.
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