k from his
forehead.

"Well, who does?" He looked up gayly and kissed the tips of her fingers.

"And it's in that spirit you're going back into the House?" Mary Lyster
threw him the question--with a slight pinching of the lips--as she
resumed her work.

"Spirit? What do you mean, Polly? One plays the game, of course--and it
has its moments--its hot corners, so to speak--or I suppose no one would
play it!"

"And the goal?" She lifted a gently disapproving face, in a movement
which showed anew the large comeliness of head and neck.

"Why--to keep the other fellows out, of course!" He lifted an arm and
drew his mother down to sit on the edge of his chair.

"William, you're not to talk like that," said Lady Tranmore, decidedly,
laying her cheek, however, against His hand the while. "It was all very
well when you were quite a free-lance--but now--Oh! never mind
Mary--she's discreet--and she knows all about it."

"What--that they're thinking of giving me Hickson's place? Parham has
just written to me--I found the letter down-stairs--to ask me to go and
see him."

"Oh! it's come?" said Lady Tranmore, with a start of pleasure. Lord
Parham was the Prime Minister. "Now don't be a humbug, William, and
pretend you're not pleased. But you'll have to work, mind!" She held up
an admonishing finger. "You'll have to answer letters, mind!--you'll
have to keep appointments, mind!"

"Shall I?... Ah!--Hudson--"

He turned. The butler was in the room.

"His lordship, my lady, would like to see Mr. William before dinner if
he could make it convenient."

"Certainly, Hudson, certainly," said the young man. "Tell his lordship
I'll be with him in ten minutes."

Then, as the butler departed--"How's father, mother?"

"Oh! much as usual," said Lady Tranmore, sadly.

"And you?"

He laid his arm boyishly round her waist, and looked up at her, his
handsome face all affection and life. Mary Lyster, observing them,
thought them a remarkable pair--he in the very prime and heyday of
brilliant youth, she so beautiful still, in spite of the filling-out of
middle life--which, indeed, was at the moment somewhat toned and
disguised by the deep mourning, the sweeping crape and dull silk in
which she was dressed.

"I'm all right, dear," she said, quietly, putting her hand on his
shoulder. "Now, go on with your tea. Mary--feed him! I'll go and talk to
father till you come."

She disappeared, and William Ashe approached his cousin.

"She