For one
moment something in her pose reminded me of Queen Victoria.

"Indeed? You have heard; since your return?" faltered old Jervaise. "But I
cannot suppose for one moment that either you or your husband approve
of--of your son's gross misbehaviour." He got out the accusation with an
effort; he had to justify himself before his son. But the slight stoop of
his shoulders, and his hesitating glances at Mrs. Banks were propitiatory,
almost apologetic. It seemed to me that he pleaded with her to realise
that he could say and do no less than what he was saying and doing; to
understand and to spare him.

"But that is new to me," Mrs. Banks replied. "I have heard nothing of any
gross misbehaviour."

She was so clearly mistress of the situation that I might have been sorry
for old Jervaise, if it had not been for the presence of that scowling
fool by the door.

"I--I'm afraid I can describe your son's conduct as--as nothing less than
gross misbehaviour," the old man stammered, "having consideration to his
employment. But, perhaps, you have not been properly informed of the--of
the offence."

"Is it an offence to love unwisely, Mr. Jervaise?" Mrs. Banks shot at him
with a sudden ferocity.

He blustered feebly. "You _must_ see how impossible it is for your son to
dream of marrying my daughter," he said. The blood had mounted to his
face; and he looked as if he longed to get up and walk out. I wondered
vaguely whether Frank had had that eventuality in mind when he blockaded
the door with his own gloomy person.

"Tchah!" ejaculated Mrs. Banks with supreme contempt. "Do not talk that
nonsense to me, but listen, now, to what I have to say. I will make
everything quite plain to you. We have decided that Arthur and Brenda
shall be married; but we condescend to that amiable weakness of yours
which always demands that there shall be no scandal. It must surely be
your motto at the Hall to avoid scandal--at any cost. So we are agreed to
make a concession. The marriage we insist upon; but we are willing, all of
us, to emigrate. We will take ourselves away, so that no one can point to
the calamity of a marriage between a Banks and a Jervaise. It will, I
think, break my husband's heart, but we see that there is nothing else to
be done."

Old Jervaise's expression was certainly one of relief. He would, I am
sure, have agreed to that compromise if he had been alone; he might even
have agreed, as it was, if he had been given the cha