oking in.

"I've got an hour off," he explained, "so I walked up to thank you for
the flowers. My mother liked them, and liked to have them from you." He
saw Neeld, and greeted him courteously. "I asked her if I should give
you her love, and she said yes--with her eyes, you know. She speaks
mostly that way now. Well, she always did a good deal, I expect." His
smile came on the last words.

"She sent her love to me?"

"Yes. I told her what you did one evening, and she liked that too."

"I hope Lady Tristram is--er--going on well?" asked Neeld.

"She doesn't suffer, thank you."

Mina invited him in; there was an appositeness in his coming which
appealed to her, and she watched Neeld with covert eagerness.

Harry looked round the room, then vaulted over the sill.

"My uncle's playing golf with Mr Iver," remarked Mina. "Tea?"

"No; too sick-roomy. I'm for nothing but strong drink now--and I've had
some." He came to the middle of the room and stood between them,
flinging his hat on the table where Mr Cholderton's Journal had so
lately lain. "My mother's an extraordinary woman," he went on, evidently
so full of his thought that he must speak it out; "she's dying
joyfully."

After an instant Mina asked, "Why?" Neeld was surprised at the baldness
of the question, but Harry took it as natural.

"It's like going off guard--I mean, rather, off duty--to her, I think."
He made the correction thoughtfully and with no haste. "Life has always
seemed rather like an obligation to do things you don't want to--not
that she did them all--and now she's tired, she's glad to leave it to
me. Only she wishes I was a bit better-looking, though she won't admit
it. She couldn't stand a downright ugly man at Blent, you know. I've a
sort of notion"--he seemed to forget Neeld, and looked at Mina for
sympathy--"that she thinks she'll be able to come and have a look at
Blent and me in it, all the same." His smile took a whimsical turn as he
spoke of his mother's dying fancies.

Mina glanced at Mr Neeld; was the picture visible to him that rose
before her eyes--of the poor sprite coming eagerly, but turning sadly
away when she saw a stranger enthroned at Blent, and knew not where to
look for her homeless, landless son? Mina was not certain that she could
safely credit Neeld with such a flight of imagination; still he was
listening, and his eyes were very gentle behind his spectacles.

"The parson came to see her yesterday. He's not what yo