ttempt to coerce him. I am sure the
furnace needs attending to. This room is cold, and you know, when I am
writing, I always do have cold feet." He was turning the leaves of his
book with impatience, and a total withdrawal of interest from the
subject of conversation. Mrs. Filmer left him with a look of
contempt.

"The man has lost all natural feeling," she sighed. "He gets his very
passions out of a bookcase. There is no use in expecting help from
him."

She put the letter in her pocket, and tried to go on with the domestic
affairs interesting her; but she found the effort impossible. A fierce
jealousy of her son swallowed up every smaller feeling; she had a
nausea when she thought he might at that very moment be "making an
irredeemable fool of himself." But she took into consideration what
Mr. Filmer had said, and acknowledged that, careless as he seemed
about the matter, he had touched its vital point at once. Harry would
not bear coercion. Her tactics would have to be straightforward and
persuasive.

She sat motionless, with eyes cast down, considering them; and
schooling herself into such control of her passion as would compel
Harry to respect her objections. She resolved also to say nothing of
her plans to Rose. Rose had a romantic fancy for the girl's brother;
and she was quite capable of justifying her own penchant behind
Harry's. As she pondered these things, she heard the carpenters from
the village preparing the ball-room. They were tacking up bunting and
wreaths of autumn leaves, but though the designs were her own, and she
had been much interested in them, everything about the entertainment
had suddenly become a weariness. She felt that until she had an
understanding with Harry, she could do nothing; no, nor even care for
what others were doing.

Fortunately, as she stood at the window, gloomily looking into a
future her own sick fancy conjured, she saw Harry coming slowly up the
avenue. He had the air of a man in suspense or anxiety, and she
whispered, "There! I know he has done something awful! He looks like
it. It is a shame that a strange girl should come into my home and
make so much trouble. It is, really!"

Her intense recognition of Harry caused him to look up, and she made a
motion which he hastened to answer. For here it must be admitted that
Harry had a certain fear of his mother--a fear all compact of love--a
fear of wounding or offending her--a fear of seeing her weeping or
troubled--a