r Everard Kingsland met with a very cold reception from his lady
mother upon his return to Devonshire. She listened in still disdain to
his glowing accounts of the marvels the summer would work in the grand
old place.

"And all this for the penniless daughter of a half-pay captain; and
Lady Louise might have been his wife."

Sir Everard ran heedlessly on.

"You and Milly shall retain your old rooms, of course," he said, "and
have them altered or not, just as you choose. Harrie's room shall be
in the south wing--she likes a sunny, southern prospect--and the winter
and summer drawing-rooms must be completely refurnished; and the
conservatory has been sadly neglected of late, and the oak paneling in
the dining-room wants touching up. Hadn't you better give all the
orders for your own apartments yourself? The others I will attend to."

"My orders are already given," Lady Kingsland said, with frigid
hauteur. "My jointure house is to be fitted up. Before you return
from your honey-moon I will have quitted Kingsland Court with my
daughter. Permit Mildred and me to retain our present apartments
unaltered until that time; then the future Lady Kingsland can have the
old rooms disfigured with as much gilding and stucco and ormolu as she
pleases."

The young man's fair face blackened with an angry scowl as he listened
to the taunting, spiteful speech. But he restrained himself.

"There is no necessity for your withdrawal from your old home. If you
leave, it will be against my wish. Neither my wife nor I could ever
desire such a step."

"Your wife! Does she take state upon herself already? To you and your
wife, Sir Everard Kingsland, I return my humble thanks, but even
Kingsland Court is not large enough for two mistresses. I will never
stand aside and see the pauper daughter of the half-pay captain rule
where I ruled once."

She swept majestically out of the room as she launched her last
smarting shaft, leaving her son with face of suppressed rage, to
recover his temper as best he might.

"He will never ask me again," she thought. "I know his nature too
well."

And he did not. He went about his work with stern determination, never
consulting her, never asking advice, or informing her of any
project--always deferential, always studiously polite.

There was one person, however, at the Court who made up, by the warmth
of her greeting and the fervor of her sympathy, for any lack on his
mother's part. It w