Val uttered a queer little grunt, and looked quickly at his uncle⁠—that uncle whom he had been taught to look on as a guarantee against the consequences of having a father, even against the Dartie blood in his own veins. The flat-checked visage seemed to wince, and this upset him.

“It won’t be public, will it?”

So vividly before him had come recollection of his own eyes glued to the unsavoury details of many a divorce suit in the Public Press.

“Can’t it be done quietly somehow? It’s so disgusting for⁠—for mother, and⁠—and everybody.”

“Everything will be done as quietly as it can, you may be sure.”

“Yes⁠—but, why is it necessary at all? Mother doesn’t want to marry again.”