Lord
Reckage. But she might have been urged to the more candid course of
ascertaining how far his lordship's true happiness was really involved
in the question. At that moment, however, Mrs. Rennes came into the
room. She gave a little cry of surprise when she saw her son. Then she
kissed Agnes, and sat down, looking anxiously from one to the other with
something not unlike grief, not unlike jealousy.

Her life and habits of thought were simple, but she had been highly
educated. She was an accomplished linguist, a good musician, a most
intelligent companion. Things which she could not comprehend she would,
at least, accept on faith. There had never been the shadow of a quarrel
between David and herself. But she felt, by intuition, that Agnes
Carillon had, in some way, affected his life, his work, his whole
nature. She could not blame her, because she knew nothing definite about
the understanding which existed, plainly enough, between her son and
this young lady. She had a horror, however, of flirtation and flirts. It
seemed to her that, under all this talk and correspondence on art,
poetry, scenery, and the like, there was a strong under-current of
emotion. So she smiled upon Agnes with a certain reserve, as though she
were not quite sure whether she had any great reason to feel delighted
at her call. At a glance from David, however, her look softened into
real friendliness.

"I was so surprised to see Mr. Rennes here," said Agnes.

"I am surprised, too," said the older woman.

A restraint fell upon all three. David walked about the room, looking
for things he did not want, and asking questions he did not wish
answered, although he hoped they would interest his mother. But his
spirits soon flagged. The conversation became trivial and absurd.

"Where are you staying?" asked Mrs. Rennes.

"I am with Pensee Fitz Rewes," said Agnes; "she has gone in the carriage
to do a little shopping. She will send it here for me."

The carriage was at that instant announced. David went down the stairs
with Agnes and handed her in. He said nothing. Mrs. Rennes watched the
pair from the window and nodded her farewell with much gravity. When
David returned to her, he found her reading peacefully Trollope's last
novel. It was for these graces that he loved her most. He scribbled
letters at her writing-table for the next hour. Then he spoke--

"I am going," said he, "to the East. I need a change. I suppose it will
mean six months."