to justify to herself; saying that of course he
did not mean to hurt the child, but that a person put in charge of the
children of another, in any case, must have some power of correcting
them when they wanted correction, and with great wonder and indignation
at his wife had yet a wondering question in her mind--what would she
herself have done if any one had corrected Theo so when he was a boy?
She did all she could to urge him to return, sitting up till very late,
keeping the groom awake for possible orders. "Frances will be very
anxious," she said to her son. "She has no reason to be anxious; she
knows where I am." "Oh, Theo, don't let it come to a quarrel," Mrs.
Warrender urged imploringly, with tears in her eyes. Her attitude put
him in mind of his wife's attitude as she stood holding out her hands,
and was intolerable to him. "Good-night, mother. I am going to bed," he
said. Mrs. Warrender was as restless as Lady Markland. She had come and
listened to his breathing outside his door, and seen that his light was
out, and that he had actually gone to bed, as he said, before she would
allow herself to be convinced. It was a quarrel, then; and what was to
come of it,--what was to come of it? Lady Markland was very yielding and
gentle, but Theo! Theo was not yielding. Mrs. Warrender, too, lay down
when it was nearly morning, as miserable as could be.

And yet none of them, not even the chief actors, who were both at the
pitch of desperation, really believed that what this meant was a breach
which should last for years. Even they would not have believed it had it
been put to them. That it should not all come right was incredible. But
as a matter of fact it did not come right. Lady Markland was not by
nature the yielding and anxious woman whom for this year of troubled
wedlock she had appeared; and everybody knew that Theo was neither
persuadable nor reasonable, but had the hottest temper, the most rigid
will, of his own, and that ingenuity in finding himself in the right which
gives a fatal character to every quarrel. Lady Markland was willing to
make any concession but the one which he required, the abandonment of
Geoff. But he would make no concession; he stood upon his rights. With
all the fervour and absolutism of inexperience he stood fast. No, nothing
less than everything, nothing but entire submission, nothing but
obedience. Alarmed and anxious friends gathered to the fray, as was
inevitable, and everything was mad