“She doesn’t know Lauretta is her mother.”

“Are you certain of that?” Bruce said.

“Insofar as I may be. But that is neither here nor there. What is more to the point is your speaking of her in a way that would be absurd even in a callow innocent—and you are not that. Can you actually tell me you hold a high regard for that woman?”

Bruce fiddled with his tumbler, making prints on the tablecloth with its moist bottom. “I find her pretty and her company agreeable. I have said no more than that.”

“I hope you have said less than that to her.”

“She certainly knows that I admire her.”

“Then you must henceforth contain your admiration, for I will not allow it!”

“Mama!” he cried in protest, sounding more like a boy than a man nearer fifty than forty.

“No, sir!” she said emphatically. “I will not! She is a wanton creature without a thought for anyone but herself. When I see them together, I find it hard to credit that she is Sarah’s blood kin.”

“You surely are very hard on her, Mama!”

“Hard or not, that is how I feel, and I shall not change. If you have any idea—even the remotest beginning of such an idea as making her your wife, you must forget it. I will not—I will not allow it! I would set fire to this house before letting her step across its threshold as mistress.”

“Mama, you are shocking! And you overexcite yourself. I have only said I think her nice.”

“Nice? That bawd of Beelzebub?”

“Mama, please!—if you please! They’ll hear you in the kitchen.”

“And I shan’t mind if they hear me at Beulah Land, as they most certainly will if you make one further move toward that sly, scheming, wicked creature—who abandoned her child, who took your brother and my son from his hearth and home and had him murdered in a brawling frontier town!”

Bruce strove for dignity. “I am sure I have no intention of—of paying serious court to Miss Lauretta.”

“I am glad to hear you say so.”

He slapped the table suddenly in exasperation. “However, Mama! I won’t have you telling me what I may do in personal matters.”