The instant the front door closed behind her son, Mrs. McKaye
recovered her composure. Had the reason been more trifling, she would
have wept longer, but, in view of its gravity, her common sense (she
possessed some, when it pleased her to use it) bade her be up and
doing. Also, she was smitten with remorse. She told herself she was
partly to blame for this scourge that had come upon the family; she
had neglected her son and his indulgent father. She, who knew so well
the peculiar twists of her husband's mental and moral make-up, should
not be surprised if he cast a tolerant eye upon his son's
philanderings; seemingly the boy had always been able to twist his
father round his finger, so to speak. She sat up, dabbed her eyes,
kissed Jane lovingly as who should say, "Well, thank God, here is one
child I can rely upon," and turned upon the culprit. Her opening
sentence was at once a summons and an invitation.
"Well, Hector?"
"It happened while you were away--while we were both away, Nellie. I
was gone less than forty-eight hours--and he had compromised himself."
"You don't mean--really compromised himself!" Jane cried sharply, thus
bringing upon her The Laird's attention. He appeared to transfix her
with his index finger.
"To bed with you, young lady!" he ordered. "Your mother and I will
discuss this matter without any of your pert suggestions or
exclamations. I'm far from pleased with you, Jane. I told you to shut
that door, and you disobeyed me. For that, you shall suffer due
penance. Six months in Port Agnew, my dear, to teach you obedience and
humility. Go!"
Jane departed, sniffling, and this stern evidence of The Laird's
temper was not lost upon his wife. She decided to be tactful, which,
in her case, meant proceeding slowly, speaking carefully, and
listening well. Old Hector heaved himself out of his great chair, came
and sat down on the divan with his wife, and put his arm round her.
"Dear old Nellie!" he whispered, and kissed her.
For the moment, they were lovers of thirty-odd years agone; their
children forgotten, they were sufficient unto themselves.
"I know just how you feel, Nellie. I have done my best to spare you--I
have not connived or condoned. And I'll say this for our son: He's
been open and above-board with her and with me. He's young, and in a
moment of that passion that comes to young men--aye, and young women,
too, for you and I have known it--he told her what was in his heart,
even while his head warned him to keep quiet. It seems to me sometimes
that 'tis something that was to be."
"Oh, Hector, it mustn't be! It cannot be!"
"I'm hoping it will not be, Nellie. I'll do my best to stop it."
"But, Hector, why did you support him a moment ago?"
He flapped a hand to indicate a knowledge of his own incomprehensible
conduct.
"She'd called for him, Nellie. Poor bairn, her heart went out to the
one she knew would help her, and, by God, Nellie, I felt for her!
You're a woman, Nellie. Think--if one of your own daughters was
wishful for a kind word and a helping hand from an honorable gentleman
and some fool father forbade it. Nellie wife, my heart and my head are
sore tangled, sore tangled--"
His voice broke. He was shaken with emotion. He had stood much and he
had stood it alone; while it had never occurred to him to think so, he
had been facing life pretty much alone for a decade. It would have
eased his surcharged spirit could he have shed a few manly tears, if
his wife had taken his leonine old head on her shoulder and lavished
upon him the caresses his hungry heart yearned for. Unfortunately, she
was that type of wife whose first and only thought is for her
children. She was aware only that he was in a softened mood, so she
said,
"Don't you think you've been a little hard on poor Jane, Hector dear?"
"No, I do not. She's cruel, selfish, and uncharitable."
"But you'll forgive her this once, won't you, dear?"
He considered.
"Well, if she doesn't heckle Donald--" he began, but she stopped
further proviso with a grateful kiss, and immediately followed Jane
up-stairs to break the good news to her. She and Jane then joined
Elizabeth in the latter's room, and the trio immediately held what
their graceless relative would have termed "a lodge of sorrow." Upon
motion of Jane, seconded by Elizabeth, it was unanimously resolved
that the honor of the family must be upheld. At all cost. They laid
out a plan of campaign.