certainly. Tell her to come right up."
Wondering a little at this request, Mrs. Birtwell waited for Mrs.
Whitford's appearance, rising and advancing toward the door as she
heard her steps approaching. Mrs. Whitford's veil was down as she
entered, and she did not draw it aside until she had shut the door
behind her. Then she pushed it away.
An exclamation of painful surprise fell from the lips of Mrs.
Birtwell the moment she saw the face of her visitor. It was pale and
wretched beyond description, but wore the look of one who had
resolved to perform some painful duty, though it cost her the
intensest suffering.
CHAPTER XXV.
"I HAVE come," said Mrs. Whitford, after she was seated and had
composed herself, "to perform the saddest duty of my whole life."
She paused, her white lips quivering, then rallied her strength and
went on:
"Even to dishonor my son."
She caught her breath with a great sob, and remained silent for
nearly half a minute, sitting so still that she seemed like one
dead. In that brief time she had chained down her overwrought
feelings and could speak without a tremor in her voice.
"I have come to say," she now went on, "that this marriage must not
take place. Its consummation would be a great wrong, and entail upon
your daughter a life of misery. My son is falling into habits that
will, I sadly fear, drag him down to hopeless ruin.
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