orsake all
lesser ties in order to cleave to her husband?"

"I have," replied Sophy. "And that other saying, too: 'Wives, submit
yourselves unto your husbands as unto the Lord.' I haven't the least
intention of submitting myself to Cecil as 'unto the Lord.' And I don't
mean to sacrifice my son to him, either."

Lady Wychcote said nothing at once, only sat and looked at her
daughter-in-law. As she saw the hardness to which Sophy's face was
congealing under this look, she broke her silence by observing:

"I was trying to realise that you actually propose to leave the man,
whom you promised to cherish in sickness and in health--to leave him in
the clutch of a hideous illness--merely because your son, _his_ son, has
had an attack of croup."

Sophy said quietly:

"Why do you call it an 'illness,' Lady Wychcote?"

Her mother-in-law reddened; but replied doggedly:

"Because it is an illness. He came near dying the other night."

"People who persistently take poison must come near dying sometimes,"
said Sophy.

Lady Wychcote rose.

"I pity my son!" she exclaimed. "I pity him from the depths of my soul!"

"Yes.... I pity him, too," said Sophy.

"But not for the same reason. I pity him because he has married a
heartless woman!"

Sophy shook her head gently. She had not risen. She sat looking up at
her irate mother-in-law out of tired grey eyes.

"You don't think that," she said. "You don't like me--and you are very
angry with me because I won't play 'patient Griselda' any longer--but
you don't think me heartless."

"Upon my word!" exclaimed her ladyship, with a sort of gasp. "Upon my
word!" she repeated. Words failed her.

Now Sophy rose too. She looked earnestly into the angry, pinched face.
She was sorry for the mother whose ambition had outweighed her love--and
was now but a grey ash of disappointment on her burnt-out, irascible
heart.

"Lady Wychcote," she said, "I must tell you, whether you believe me or
not, I must tell you that even now, after I had seen Bobby safe and well
in proper hands, I would come back to Cecil--if it would do him any real
good. No--please let me finish. I shan't speak like this again. I would
come back--horrible, hideous as it all is--I would stay near him. But I
cannot help him. I am sure that it only does him harm to have
me--us--always overlooking--forgiving--weakly, miserably forgiving. I do
_not_ forgive any longer--I will never forgive again--unless he will
submit himsel