"Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. Still keeping ahead of his pursuers, he ran along the direct road, till the houses disappeared and he got into the open country. The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly. Like stealing. And imprinting a kiss upon his mother's cold lips, he left the room. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. " "That was my doing, dearest," urged the carpenter; "I was afraid if you saw her that some such scene as this might occur. But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast.
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