"Yes, your son, Madam. If you choose to requite me by detaining me, you are at liberty to do so. Brendon. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. You don’t know. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. . There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque.
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