But Roger's mother was not to be repressed.

Resentment and antagonism, nurtured on a hundred small incidents and trifling jars, and, to begin with, a matter of temperament, had come at last to speech.

And in this charming New Englander, the wife of Roger's best friend, sympathetic, tender, with a touch in her of the nun and the saint, Lady Barnes could not help trying to find a supporter.

She was a much weaker person than her square build and her double chin would have led the bystander to suppose; and her feelings had been hurt.
So that when Mrs.French returned to say that the sun seemed to be coming out, her companion, without heeding, went on, with emotion: "It's my son I am thinking of, Mrs.French.I know you're safe, and that Roger depends upon Mr.French more than upon anyone else in the world, so I can't help just saying a word to you about my anxiety.

You know, when Roger married, I don't think he was much in love--in fact, I'm sure he wasn't.