Hearing what Randal said, she paused, wondering at the strange allusion to her husband.

In the meanwhile, Mrs.Presty answered the question that had been addressed to her.
"Yes," she said to Randal; "I mean your brother, and your brother's mistress--Sydney Westerfield." Mrs.Linley laid the parasol back on the table, and approached them.
She never once looked at her mother; her face, white and rigid, was turned toward Randal.

To him, and to him only, she spoke.
"What does my mother's horrible language mean ?" she asked.
Mrs.Presty triumphed inwardly; chance had decided in her favor, after all! "Don't you see," she said to her daughter, "that I am here to answer for myself ?" Mrs.Linley still looked at Randal, and still spoke to him.

"It is impossible for me to insist on an explanation from my mother," she proceeded.

"No matter what I may feel, I must remember that she _is_ my mother.