Mrs. Bellew's voice sounded quick and fierce behind her.
"How could I help getting tired? I am not you. Now go!"
Mrs. Pendyce wrenched open the outer door. Descending the stairs, she
felt for the bannister. She had that awful sense of physical soreness
and shrinking which violence, whether their own or others', brings to
gentle souls.
CHAPTER V
THE MOTHER AND THE SON
To Mrs. Pendyce, Chelsea was an unknown land, and to find her way to
George's rooms would have taken her long had she been by nature what she
was by name, for Pendyces never asked their way to anything, or believed
what they were told, but found out for themselves with much unnecessary
trouble, of which they afterwards complained.
A policeman first, and then a young man with a beard, resembling an
artist, guided her footsteps. The latter, who was leaning by a gate,
opened it.
"In here," he said; "the door in the corner on the right."
Mrs. Pendyce walked down the little path, past the ruined fountain with
its three stone frogs, and stood by the first green door and waited. And
while she waited she struggled between fear and joy; for now that she
was away from Mrs. Bellew she no longer felt a sense of insult. It was
the actual sight of her that had aroused it, so personal is even the
most gentle heart.
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