indeed.

All the afternoon Jack had remained with them; he had bought animal
food, found a fellow to take them into the pavilion, and even driven
home with them. It was when he helped his charges into the carriage that
Mrs Holt had noticed something. He first handed his mother in and then
Victoria. Mrs Holt had seen him put his hand under Victoria's forearm,
which was quite ordinary, but she had also seen him hold her in so doing
by the joint of her short sleeve and long glove where a strip of white
skin showed and slip two fingers under the glove. This was not so
ordinary and Mrs Holt began to think.

When a Rawsley dame begins to think of things such as these, her
conscience invariably demands of her that she should know more. Mrs Holt
therefore said nothing, but kept a watchful eye on the couple. She could
urge nothing against Victoria. Her companion remained the cheerful and
competent friend of the early days; she was no more amiable to Jack than
to his father: she talked no more to him than to the rest of the
household; she did not even look at him much. But Jack was always about
her; his eyes followed her round the room, playing with every one of her
movements. Whenever she smiled his lips fluttered in response.

Mrs Holt passed slowly through the tragic stages that a mother goes
through when her son loves. She was not very anxious as to the results
of the affair, for she knew Jack, though she loved him. She knew that
his purpose was never strong. Also she trusted Victoria. But, every day
and inevitably, the terrible jealousy that invades a mother's soul crept
further into hers. He was her son and he was wavering from an allegiance
the pangs of childbirth had entitled her to.

Mrs Holt loved her son, and, like most of those who love, would torture
the being that was all in all for her. She would have crushed his
thoughts if she had felt able to do so, so as to make him more
malleable; she rejoiced to see him safely anchored to the cement
business, where nothing could distract him; she even rejoiced over his
weakness, for she enjoyed the privilege of giving him strength. She
would have ground to powder his ambitions, so that he might be more
fully her son, hers, hers only.

The stepping in of the other woman, remote and subtle as it was, was a
terrible thing. She felt it from afar as the Arabian steed hears the
coming simoon moaning beyond the desert. With terrible lucidity she had
seen everything that passed