"Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. ” She spoke rather quickly, because she found her father’s question the most awkward she had ever had to answer in her life. Come down with me to the Lodge directly. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice.
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