But,
supposing there were any ground for what they say; do they realize
how the publicity is going to affect Bee's reputation? And how
shall you feel if you set the police at work and find them
publishing the name of a girl who is Jim's cousin, and a friend of
your own daughter's?"
Manford moved restlessly in his chair, and in so doing caught his
reflexion in the mirror, and saw that his jaw had lost its stern
professional cast. He made an attempt to recover it, but
unsuccessfully.
"But all this is too absurd," Pauline continued on a smoother note.
"The Mahatma and his friends have nothing to fear. Whose judgment
would you sooner trust: mine, or poor Fanny's? What really bothers
me is your allowing the Lindons to drag you into an affair which is
going to discredit them, and not the Mahatma." She smiled her
bright frosty smile. "You know how proud I am of your professional
prestige: I should hate to have you associated with a failure."
She paused, and he saw that she meant to rest on that.
"This is a pretty bad business. The Lindons have got their proofs
all right," he said.
Pauline reddened, and her face lost its look of undaunted serenity.
"How can you believe such rubbish, Dexter? If you're going to take
Fanny Lindon's word against mine—"
"It's not a question of your word or hers. Lindon is fully
documented: he didn't come to me till he was. I'm sorry, Pauline;
but you've been deceived. This man has got to be shown up, and the
Lindons have had the pluck to do what everybody else has shirked."
Pauline's angry colour had faded. She got up and stood before her
husband, distressed and uncertain; then, with a visible effort at
self–command, she seated herself again, and locked her hands about
her gold–mounted bag.
"Then you'd rather the scandal, if there is one, should be paraded
before the world? Who will gain by that except the newspaper
reporters, and the people who want to drag down society? And how
shall you feel if Nona is called as a witness—or Lita?"
"Oh, nonsense—" He stopped abruptly, and got up too. The
discussion was lasting longer than he had intended, and he could
not find the word to end it. His mind felt suddenly empty—empty
of arguments and formulas. "I don't know why you persist in
bringing in Nona—or Lita—"
"I don't; it's you. You will, that is, if you take this case. Bee
and Nona have been intimate since they were babies, and Bee is
always at Lita's. Don't you suppose the Mahatma's lawyers will
make use of that if you OBLIGE him to fight? You may say you're
prepared for it; and I admire your courage—but I can't share it.
The idea that our children may be involved simply sickens me."
"Neither Nona nor Lita has ever had anything to do with this
charlatan and his humbug, as far as I know," said Manford
irritably.
"Nona has attended his eurythmic classes at our house, and gone to
his lectures with me: at one time they interested her intensely."
Pauline paused. "About Lita I don't know: I know so little about
Lita's life before her marriage."
"It was presumably that of any of Nona's other girl friends."
"Presumably. Kitty Landish might enlighten us. But of course, if
it WAS—" he noted her faintly sceptical emphasis—"I don't admit
that that would preclude Lita's having known the Mahatma, or
believed in him. And you must remember, Dexter, that I should be
the most deeply involved of all! I mean to take a rest–cure at
Dawnside in March." She gave the little playful laugh with which
she had been used, in old times, to ridicule the naughtiness of her
children.
Manford drummed on his blotting–pad. "Look here, suppose we drop
this for the present—"
She glanced at her wrist–watch. "If you can spare the time—"
"Spare the time?"
She answered softly: "I'm not going away till you've promised."
Manford could remember the day when that tone—so feminine under
its firmness—would have had the power to shake him. Pauline, in
her wifely dealings, so seldom invoked the prerogative
supposing there were any ground for what they say; do they realize
how the publicity is going to affect Bee's reputation? And how
shall you feel if you set the police at work and find them
publishing the name of a girl who is Jim's cousin, and a friend of
your own daughter's?"
Manford moved restlessly in his chair, and in so doing caught his
reflexion in the mirror, and saw that his jaw had lost its stern
professional cast. He made an attempt to recover it, but
unsuccessfully.
"But all this is too absurd," Pauline continued on a smoother note.
"The Mahatma and his friends have nothing to fear. Whose judgment
would you sooner trust: mine, or poor Fanny's? What really bothers
me is your allowing the Lindons to drag you into an affair which is
going to discredit them, and not the Mahatma." She smiled her
bright frosty smile. "You know how proud I am of your professional
prestige: I should hate to have you associated with a failure."
She paused, and he saw that she meant to rest on that.
"This is a pretty bad business. The Lindons have got their proofs
all right," he said.
Pauline reddened, and her face lost its look of undaunted serenity.
"How can you believe such rubbish, Dexter? If you're going to take
Fanny Lindon's word against mine—"
"It's not a question of your word or hers. Lindon is fully
documented: he didn't come to me till he was. I'm sorry, Pauline;
but you've been deceived. This man has got to be shown up, and the
Lindons have had the pluck to do what everybody else has shirked."
Pauline's angry colour had faded. She got up and stood before her
husband, distressed and uncertain; then, with a visible effort at
self–command, she seated herself again, and locked her hands about
her gold–mounted bag.
"Then you'd rather the scandal, if there is one, should be paraded
before the world? Who will gain by that except the newspaper
reporters, and the people who want to drag down society? And how
shall you feel if Nona is called as a witness—or Lita?"
"Oh, nonsense—" He stopped abruptly, and got up too. The
discussion was lasting longer than he had intended, and he could
not find the word to end it. His mind felt suddenly empty—empty
of arguments and formulas. "I don't know why you persist in
bringing in Nona—or Lita—"
"I don't; it's you. You will, that is, if you take this case. Bee
and Nona have been intimate since they were babies, and Bee is
always at Lita's. Don't you suppose the Mahatma's lawyers will
make use of that if you OBLIGE him to fight? You may say you're
prepared for it; and I admire your courage—but I can't share it.
The idea that our children may be involved simply sickens me."
"Neither Nona nor Lita has ever had anything to do with this
charlatan and his humbug, as far as I know," said Manford
irritably.
"Nona has attended his eurythmic classes at our house, and gone to
his lectures with me: at one time they interested her intensely."
Pauline paused. "About Lita I don't know: I know so little about
Lita's life before her marriage."
"It was presumably that of any of Nona's other girl friends."
"Presumably. Kitty Landish might enlighten us. But of course, if
it WAS—" he noted her faintly sceptical emphasis—"I don't admit
that that would preclude Lita's having known the Mahatma, or
believed in him. And you must remember, Dexter, that I should be
the most deeply involved of all! I mean to take a rest–cure at
Dawnside in March." She gave the little playful laugh with which
she had been used, in old times, to ridicule the naughtiness of her
children.
Manford drummed on his blotting–pad. "Look here, suppose we drop
this for the present—"
She glanced at her wrist–watch. "If you can spare the time—"
"Spare the time?"
She answered softly: "I'm not going away till you've promised."
Manford could remember the day when that tone—so feminine under
its firmness—would have had the power to shake him. Pauline, in
her wifely dealings, so seldom invoked the prerogative
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