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Updated: May 15, 2025
I picked a bunch of heliotrope which she pinned at her bosom. "Lola," I said, "I want to speak to you seriously." She smiled wanly: "Do we ever speak otherwise these dreadful days?" "It's about Dale. Read this," said I, and I handed her Lady Kynnersley's letter. She read it through and returned it to me. "Well?" "I asked you a week or two ago what you were going to do with your life," I said.
Agatha had not seen him, but Lady Kynnersley had called on her one day in a distracted frame of mind, bitterly reproaching me for the unhappiness of her son. I should never have suspected that such fierce maternal love could burn beneath Lady Kynnersley's granite exterior. She accused me of treachery towards Dale and, most illogically, of dishonourable conduct towards herself.
Write to me if it would ease your heart and tell me just what you feel you can. Now and always you have my utter sympathy and understanding." And this is the woman of whose thousand virtues I dared to speak in flippant jest. Heaven forgive me. After receiving Lady Kynnersley's appeal, I went to Lola. It was just before the case came on at the Cour d'Assises.
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