Mrs. George Fordyce was a large stout person, of imposing presence, and she delivered herself of this admirable sentiment most impressively; but though her son quite agreed with her, and wished with all his heart that the girl of his choice were a little less erratic and self-willed, he was wise enough to know that any attempt at coercion would be the very last thing to make her amenable to reason.

‘What girl is it now?’ he asked, with affected carelessness, but furtive anxiety.  ‘The same one who has been staying at Bourhill?’

’No; something far worse—­a dreadful low creature, who has been missing for some time.  If Gladys were not as innocent as a baby she would know that she is a creature not fit to be spoken to.  Really, George, that Miss Peck is utterly useless as a chaperon.  I wish we knew what to do.  It is one of the most exasperating and delicate affairs possible.’

‘That girl!’ repeated George, so blankly that his mother looked at him in sharp amazement.  ‘Heavens! then it’s all up, mother.’

‘All up?  What on earth do you mean?’

‘What I say.  Is it a girl called Hepburn?’ he asked half desperately, afraid to tell his mother, and yet feeling that she, and she alone, might help him.

’I believe so.  Yes, Hepburn was certainly the name your aunt mentioned.  Well, what then?’

’Simply that if Gladys has got in tow with this girl, and takes her down to Bourhill, I’m ruined.’

‘How?’

There was eager inquiry, anguish even, in the question.  Mrs. Fordyce was a vain and silly woman, but she had a mother’s feelings, and suffered, as every mother must, over her son’s dishonour.

’This girl was one of our hands, and—­and—­well, you understand, she had a pretty face, and I was foolish about her.  I never meant anything serious; but, you see, if Gladys gets to know about it, she is so absurdly quixotic, she is quite fit enough not to speak to me again.’

‘You were foolish about her?’ repeated Mrs. Fordyce slowly, and her comely face became rather pale, as she keenly eyed her son’s troubled face.  ‘Does that mean that you were responsible for her disappearance?’

‘Well, I suppose I was in the first instance,’ he said frankly.  ’Of course I was a fool for myself, but a man isn’t always responsible, but’—­

‘Oh, hold your tongue, George Fordyce!’ said his mother, her voice sharp with her angry pain.  ’Not responsible, indeed!  I am quite ashamed of you.  It is a most disgraceful thing, and I don’t know what your father will say.’

‘There is no reason why he should say anything; he needn’t be told,’ said George a trifle sullenly.  ’Of course I regret it, as every man does who makes such a deuced fool of himself.  And the girl can’t complain; it was more her fault, anyhow.’

‘Oh, George, don’t be a coward as well as a scoundrel,’ said his mother, with more sharpness in her tone than she had ever before used towards her idolised son.  ’Don’t tell me it is the woman’s fault.  That is the poor excuse all men make when they get themselves into scrapes.  I am very sorry for her, poor thing, and I think I’ll go and see her myself.’