rity, would have liked to see Chelles happy in what seemed to her
the only imaginable way. Madame de Trezac would have liked to do what
she could to second the Princess's efforts in this or any other line;
and even the old Duchess--though piously desirous of seeing her
favourite nephew married--would have thought it not only natural but
inevitable that, while awaiting that happy event, he should try to
induce an amiable young woman to mitigate the drawbacks of celibacy.
Meanwhile, they might one and all weary of her if Chelles did; and
a persistent rejection of his suit would probably imperil her
scarcely-gained footing among his friends. All this was clear to her,
yet it did not shake her resolve. She was determined to give up Chelles
unless he was willing to marry her; and the thought of her renunciation
moved her to a kind of wistful melancholy.

In this mood her mind reverted to a letter she had just received from
her mother. Mrs. Spragg wrote more fully than usual, and the unwonted
flow of her pen had been occasioned by an event for which she had long
yearned. For months she had pined for a sight of her grandson, had tried
to screw up her courage to write and ask permission to visit him, and,
finally breaking through her sedentary habits, had begun to haunt the
neighbourhood of Washington Square, with the result that one afternoon
she had had the luck to meet the little boy coming out of the house with
his nurse. She had spoken to him, and he had remembered her and called
her "Granny"; and the next day she had received a note from Mrs.
Fairford saying that Ralph would be glad to send Paul to see her. Mrs.
Spragg enlarged on the delights of the visit and the growing beauty and
cleverness of her grandson. She described to Undine exactly how Paul
was dressed, how he looked and what he said, and told her how he had
examined everything in the room, and, finally coming upon his mother's
photograph, had asked who the lady was; and, on being told, had wanted
to know if she was a very long way off, and when Granny thought she
would come back.

As Undine re-read her mother's pages, she felt an unusual tightness in
her throat and two tears rose to her eyes. It was dreadful that her
little boy should be growing up far away from her, perhaps dressed in
clothes she would have hated; and wicked and unnatural that when he saw
her picture he should have to be told who she was. "If I could only meet
some good man who would give me