irst meeting in this same room. She had
talked rapidly, for she was talking against time. The Town Council of
the principal city in Derek's constituency in the north of England had
decided that to-morrow morning should witness the laying of the
foundation stone of their new Town Hall, and Derek as the sitting
member was to preside at the celebration. Already Barker had been
dispatched to telephone for a cab to take him to the station, and at
any moment their conversation might be interrupted. So Lady Underhill
made the most of what little time she had.

Derek listened gloomily, scarcely rousing himself to reply. His mother
would have been gratified could she have known how powerfully her
arguments were working on him. That little imp of doubt which had
vexed him in the cab as he drove home from Ovingdon Square had not
died in the night. It had grown and waxed more formidable. And now,
aided by this ally from without, it had become a Colossus straddling
his soul. Derek looked frequently at the clock, and cursed the unknown
cabman whose delay was prolonging the scene. Something told him that
only flight could serve him now. He never had been able to withstand
his mother in one of her militant moods. She seemed to numb his
faculties. Other members of his family had also noted this quality in
Lady Underhill, and had commented on it bitterly in the smoking-rooms
of distant country-houses at the hour when men meet to drink the final
whisky-and-soda and unburden their souls.

Lady Underhill, having said all she had to say, recovered her breath
and began to say it again. Frequent iteration was one of her strongest
weapons. As her brother Edwin, who was fond of homely imagery, had
often observed, she could talk the hind-leg off a donkey.

"You must be mad, Derek, to dream of handicapping yourself at this
vital stage of your career with a wife who not only will not be a help
to you, but must actually be a ruinous handicap. I am not blaming you
for imagining yourself in love in the first place, though I really
should have thought that a man of your strength and character
would.... However, as I say, I am not blaming you for that.
Superficially, no doubt, this girl might be called attractive. I do
not admire the type myself, but I suppose she has that quality--in my
time we should have called it boldness--which seems to appeal to the
young men of to-day. I could imagine her fascinating a weak-minded
imbecile like your friend Mr.