for a month after that fatal day at the Zoo,
when Jack touched Victoria's arm. She saw his looks, stolen from his
mother's face, heard the softness of his voice which was often sharp for
her. Like gall, his little attentions, the quick turn of his face, a
flush sometimes, entered into and poisoned her soul. He was her son;
and, with all the ruthless, entirely animal cruelty of the mother, she
had begun to swear to herself that he should be hers and hers only, and
that she would hug him in her arms, aye, hug him to death if need be, if
only in her arms he died.

Savagely selfish as a good mother, however, Mrs Holt remembered that she
must go slowly, collect her evidence, allow the fruit to ripen before
she plucked it. Thus she retained her outward kindnesses for Victoria,
spoke her fair, threw her even into frequent contact with her son. And
every day she tortured herself with all the tiny signs that radiate from
a lover's face like aerolites from the blazing tail of a comet. Now her
case was complete. She had seen Jack lean over Victoria while she was on
her knees dusting some books, and let his hand dwell on hers. She had
seen his face all alight, his mouth a little open, breathing in the
fragrance of this woman, the intruder. And the iron had entered into the
mother's heart so sharply that she had to hurry away unseen for fear she
should cry out.

Mrs Holt dropped her little work bag. She wondered whether her husband
would see. Would she have to worry him placidly for months as she
usually had to when she wanted her own way? Or would he understand and
side with her? She did not know that women are intuitive, for she knew
nothing either of women or men, but she felt perfectly certain that she
was cleverer than Thomas Holt. If he would not see, then she would have
to show him, even if she had to plot for her son's sake.

The door opened suddenly. Thomas Holt entered. His face was perturbed,
his jaw setting grimly between the two deep folds in his cheeks. That
was the face of his bad days.

'Well, Thomas?' ventured his wife hesitatingly.

'You were right, Maria,' answered Holt after a pause. 'Jack's a bigger
fool than I thought him.'

'Ah!' said Mrs Holt with meaning, her heart beating a sharp tatoo.

'I was standing on the first landing,' Holt went on. 'I saw them at the
door of the smoke-room. He asked her for a flower from her dress; she
wouldn't give it him; he reached over and pulled one away.'

'Yes?' said