the next moment I thought my words rather fatuous. "It's a satisfaction
to my own conscience--for I HAVE one, little as you may think I've a
right to speak of it. I've been punished by my sin itself. I've been
hideously worldly, I've thought only of that, and I've taught her to be
so--to do the same. That's the only instruction I've ever given her, and
she has learned the lesson so well that now I see it stamped there in
all her nature, on all her spirit and on all her form, I'm horrified at
my work. For years we've lived that way; we've thought of nothing else.
She has profited so well by my beautiful influence that she has gone far
beyond the great original. I say I'm horrified," Mrs. Pallant dreadfully
wound up, "because she's horrible."

"My poor extravagant friend," I pleaded, "isn't it still more so to hear
a mother say such things?"

"Why so, if they're abominably true? Besides, I don't care what I say if
I save him."

I could only gape again at this least expected of all my adventures. "Do
you expect me then to repeat to him--?"

"Not in the least," she broke in; "I'll do it myself." At this I uttered
some strong inarticulate protest, but she went on with the grimmest
simplicity: "I was very glad at first, but it would have been better if
we hadn't met."

"I don't agree to that, for you interest me," I rather ruefully
professed, "immensely."

"I don't care if I do--so I interest HIM."