“Mamma!” said Cally, rousing herself as from a cataleptic sleep.  “You can’t have understood what I told you that night.  This was not a quarrel at all, in any sense—­”

“I know!  I understand!  I withdraw the word cheerfully,” said mamma, in just that tone and manner which made the strange similarity between her and Hugo.  “But what I want to say, Cally, is this.  Hugo is still in Washington.  Willie Kerr, to whom I talked by telephone last night, had a telegram from him yesterday.  Now, my child, men do not take women’s angry speeches quite as seriously as you think.  Hugo is mad about you.  All he wants is you—­”

“Oh, please—­please!  Don’t say any more.  You don’t—­”

“No, hear me out!  See for yourself if my plan is not diplomatic and feasible, and involves no surrender of pride.  I shall send Willie Kerr on to Washington this afternoon.  He will go ostensibly on private business with one of the Departments,—­though I will, of course, pay all expenses,—­and putting up at Hugo’s hotel, will meet him as if by accident.  In their talk Willie, who is tact and loyalty itself, will perhaps mention your sickness, though without comment.  Gradually the impression will come to Hugo that if he returns, with, of course, suitable apologies—­”

“Mamma,” said Cally, starting up, very white, “if you do any such thing as that I’ll go away somewhere.  I will go and earn my own living....  I’ll go and live with the Cooneys!”

The two women gazed at each other.  Over the mother’s face there spread a slow flush; the round, purple birthmark darkened.  Cally spoke again, with deadly earnestness.

“I did think you understood about this....  If you persuade Hugo to walk down from Washington on his knees....  I’ll not see him.”

Mrs. Heth, curiously, had been brought down in full flight:  perhaps by the force of that wild upstarting, perhaps by the grisly threat about the Cooneys.  Carlisle in a flare-up had always required a certain handling.  The worst of the mad girl was that she was really capable of doing these unspeakable things she mentioned.

“So you refuse pointblank,” said Mrs. Heth, in a muffled sort of voice, “to carry out your parents’ wishes.”

“About this—­I must.  I’ll do anything else you want me to, anything....  And, mamma, this isn’t papa’s wish,” said the girl, with some emotion.  “He told me—­the other night—­that I mustn’t think of marrying anybody I didn’t care for.  He said he had never thought the same of Hugo—­”

Then mamma smote the flat arm of her morris-chair, and sprang up, exploding.

“That’s it!  Shove it off on your poor, generous father!...  How characteristic of your whole behavior!  Why, you ought to be ashamed to mention your father’s name!” cried mamma; and, indeed, Cally was, though for reasons not known to her mother....

Mrs. Heth walked the floor, in the grip of those agonies which the defeat of her will brought her in poignant measure.  It may be that her faith in her diplomatic plan had never been triumphantly strong.  Now, certainly, her purposes were punitive only, and her flowing sentences well turned to her desire....