Geoffrey appealed sternly to his mother.

“Look at her!” he said.  “Is she starved?  Is she in rags?  Is she covered with bruises?” He turned to Anne.  “They have come here to propose a separation.  They both believe I hate you.  I don’t hate you.  I’m a good Christian.  I owe it to you that I’m cut out of my father’s will.  I forgive you that.  I owe it to you that I’ve lost the chance of marrying a woman with ten thousand a year.  I forgive you that. I’m not a man who does things by halves.  I said it should be my endeavor to make you a good husband.  I said it was my wish to make it up.  Well!  I am as good as my word.  And what’s the consequence?  I am insulted.  My mother comes here, and my brother comes here—­and they offer me money to part from you.  Money be hanged!  I’ll be beholden to nobody.  I’ll get my own living.  Shame on the people who interfere between man and wife!  Shame!—­that’s what I say—­shame!”

Anne looked, for an explanation, from her husband to her husband’s mother.

“Have you proposed a separation between us?” she asked.

“Yes—­on terms of the utmost advantage to my son; arranged with every possible consideration toward you.  Is there any objection on your side?”

“Oh, Lady Holchester! is it necessary to ask me?  What does he say?”

“He has refused.”

“Refused!”

“Yes,” said Geoffrey.  “I don’t go back from my word; I stick to what I said this morning.  It’s my endeavor to make you a good husband.  It’s my wish to make it up.”  He paused, and then added his last reason:  “I’m fond of you.”

Their eyes met as he said it to her.  Julius felt Anne’s hand suddenly tighten round his.  The desperate grasp of the frail cold fingers, the imploring terror in the gentle sensitive face as it slowly turned his way, said to him as if in words, “Don’t leave me friendless to-night!”

“If you both stop here till domesday,” said Geoffrey, “you’ll get nothing more out of me.  You have had my reply.”

With that, he seated himself doggedly in a corner of the room; waiting—­ostentatiously waiting—­for his mother and his brother to take their leave.  The position was serious.  To argue the matter with him that night was hopeless.  To invite Sir Patrick’s interference would only be to provoke his savage temper to a new outbreak.  On the other hand, to leave the helpless woman, after what had passed, without another effort to befriend her, was, in her situation, an act of downright inhumanity, and nothing less.  Julius took the one way out of the difficulty that was left—­the one way worthy of him as a compassionate and an honorable man.

“We will drop it for to-night, Geoffrey,” he said.  “But I am not the less resolved, in spite of all that you have said, to return to the subject to-morrow.  It would save me some inconvenience—­a second journey here from town, and then going back again to my engagements—­if I staid with you to-night.  Can you give me a bed?”