Part 13 (2/2)
Stout and grey-haired (as Mr. Gibbons had observed), yet bearing a noticeable likeness to his handsome son, Mr. Ledstone made a very apologetic and a very fl.u.s.tered entrance. Maxon bowed without rising; Gibbons set a chair and retired.
”I must beg a thousand pardons, Mr. Maxon, but this morning I--I received a letter--as I sat at breakfast, Mr. Maxon, with Mrs. Ledstone and my daughter. It's terrible!”
”Are you the father of Mr. G.o.dfrey Ledstone?”
”Yes, sir. My boy G.o.dfrey--I've had a letter from him. Here it is.”
”Thank you, but I'm already in possession of what your son has done.
I've heard from Mrs. Maxon. I have her letter here.”
”They're mad, Mr. Maxon! Mean to make it all public! What are we to do?
What am I to say to Mrs. Ledstone and my daughter?”
”You must really take your own course about that.”
”And my poor boy! He's been a good son, and his mother's devoted to him, and----”
Cyril Maxon's wrath found vent in one of those speeches for which his wife had a pet name. ”I don't see how the fact that your son has run away with my wife obliges, or even ent.i.tles, me to interfere in your family affairs, Mr. Ledstone.”
Acute distress is somewhat impervious to satire.
”Of course not, sir,” said Mr. Ledstone, mopping his face forlornly.
”But what's to be done? There's no real harm in the boy. He's young----”
”If you wish to imply that my wife is mainly in fault, you're entirely welcome to any comfort you and your family can extract from that a.s.sumption.”
Ledstone set his hands on the table between them, and looked plaintively at Maxon. He was disconcerted and puzzled; he fancied that he had not made himself, or the situation, fully understood. He brought up his strongest artillery--the most extraordinary feature in the case.
”The boy actually suggests that he should bring your--that he should bring Mrs.--that he should bring the lady to see Mrs. Ledstone and my daughter!” He puffed out this crowning atrocity with quick breaths, and mopped his face again.
”You're master in your own house, I suppose? You can decide whom to receive, Mr. Ledstone.” He pushed his chair back a little; the movement was unmistakably a suggestion that his visitor should end his visit. Mr.
Ledstone did not take the hint.
”I suppose you'll--you'll inst.i.tute proceedings, Mr. Maxon?”
”I'm not a believer in divorce.”
”You won't?”
”I said I was not a believer in divorce.” Growing exasperation, hard held, rang in his voice.
A visible relief brightened Mr. Ledstone's face. ”You won't?” he repeated. ”Oh, well, that's something. That gives us time at all events.”
Maxon smiled--not genially. ”I don't think you must a.s.sume that your son and the lady who now calls herself Mrs. Ledstone will be as much pleased as you appear to be.”
”Oh, but if there are no proceedings!” murmured Ledstone. Then he ventured a suggestion. ”Private influence could be brought to bear?”
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