"If they've been coming out of charity to _me_," he retorted, "don't you
see you've been making me a party to a fraud? Isn't there any shame in
that?" His forehead reddened. "Mother! Can't you see the shame of letting
people think I was a d--beat, who sponged on you for my keep? Let alone
making us both the laughing-stock of every place you go to!"
"I never did that, Lancelot!"
"Did what?"
"Made you a laughing-stock--"
He stepped close to her and caught her wrist.
"Will you look me in the face and swear you never told people you were
doing this lecturing business to support me?"
There was a long silence. He dropped her wrist and she lifted a limp
handkerchief to her frightened eyes. "I did do it--to support you--to
educate you"--she sobbed.
"We're not talking about what you did when I was a boy. Everybody who
knows me knows I've been a grateful son. Have I ever taken a penny from
you since I left college ten years ago?"
"I never said you had! How can you accuse your mother of such wickedness,
Lancelot?"
"Have you never told anybody in this hotel--or anywhere else in the last
ten years--that you were lecturing to support me? Answer me that!"
"How can you," she wept, "before a stranger?"
"Haven't you said such things about _me_ to strangers?" he retorted.
"Lancelot!"
"Well--answer me, then. Say you haven't, mother!" His voice broke
unexpectedly and he took her hand with a gentler touch.
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