But Falconer she did not seem to see. Instantly, as she opened the door, her eyes had passed to where Mrs. Romayne stood confronting her, her face absorbed, concentrated, hard as steel. A faint flush of colour flooded Clemence’s face; then she lowered her eyes, and stood with her head a little bent over her child, motionless.
The words came from Mrs. Romayne quick, terse, utterly untouched and unemotional, as though the situation in itself were absolutely devoid of meaning for her.
“My husband’s name is Julian Romayne,” was the low answer.
Mrs. Romayne made a quick, imperious gesture indicative of her desire to pass into the little room, on the threshold of which Clemence was standing. Clemence made way for her with quiet dignity, and then followed her in. Falconer hesitated an instant and took up his position in the doorway, holding himself in grave, attentive readiness until the moment when his presence should be required. The little room was scrupulously neat and clean. Facing him, a strangely incongruous figure amid such poor surroundings, but apparently as absolutely unconscious of them as of the child--at which she never glanced--stood Mrs. Romayne. Facing Mrs. Romayne stood Clemence, paler now than before, and with her head bent a little lower. Falconer could see that she trembled slightly. Mrs. Romayne began to speak instantly, in the same hard, rapid tone.
“Where is my son?” she said. “You have been told, perhaps, to say you do not know--to keep his plans secret. You must give them up instantly to me. He has made a mistake, and only prompt action can redeem it. When did you see him last? What did he tell you?”
As though some subtle influence from the one woman had penetrated to the heart of the other, Clemence’s face had turned quite white. For her, too, the personal aspect of the situation seemed suddenly to sink into abeyance. Her head was lifted, and her eyes, filled with a creeping apprehension, were fixed full upon Mrs. Romayne, oblivious of anything but the one interest which they held in common.
The man watching them was vaguely conscious of something about the two women which put him quite away from them; which made him the merest spectator of something to which he had no key.