"You'd better let me see what he says, Mamma."
Her mother had called to her to come into the study. She had Maurice
Jourdain's letter in her hand. She looked sad and at the same time happy.
"My darling, he doesn't want you to see it."
"Is it as bad as all that?"
"Yes. If I'd had my way you should never have had anything to do with
him. I'd have forbidden him the house if your Uncle Victor hadn't said
that was the way to make you mad about him. He seemed to think that
seeing him would cure you. And so it ought to have done....
"He says you know he wants to break off the engagement, but he doesn't
think he has made you understand why."
"Oh, yes, he did. It's because of his business."
"He doesn't say a word about his business. I'm to break it to you that he
doesn't care for you as he thought he cared. As if he wasn't old enough
to know what he wanted. He might have made up his mind before he drove
your father into his grave."
"Tell me what he says."
"He just says that. He says he's in an awful position, and whatever he
does he must behave dishonourably.... I admit he's sorry enough. And he's
doing the only honourable thing."
"He _would_ do that."
She fixed her mind on his honour. You could love that. You could love
that always.
"He _says_ he asked you to release him. Did he?"
"Yes."
"Then why on earth didn't you?"
"I did. But I couldn't release myself."
"But that's what you ought to have done. Instead of leaving him to do
it."
"Oh, no. That would have been dishonourable to myself."
"You'd rather be jilted?"
"Much rather. It's more honourable to be jilted than to jilt."
"That's not the world's idea of honour."
"It's my idea of it.... And, after all, he _was_ Maurice Jourdain."