certain obscure
forms of gout, he was in character neither stupid nor inhuman, but he
suffered from the usual drawbacks of his class--too much money and too
few ideas. He came abroad every year, reluctantly. He did not choose to
be left behind by county neighbors whose wives talked nonsense about
Botticelli. And Mary would have it. But Sir Richard's tours were
generally one prolonged course of battle between himself and all foreign
institutions; and if it was Mary who drove him forth, it was Mary also
who generally hurried him home.

"Who was it you saw last night in that ridiculous singing affair?" he
asked, as he put the fire together.

"Kitty Ashe--and her mother," said Mary--after a moment--still writing.

"Her mother!--what, that disreputable woman?"

"They weren't in the same gondola."

"Ashe will be a great fool if he lets his wife see much of that woman!
By all accounts Lady Kitty is quite enough of a handful already.
By-the-way, have you found out where they are?"

"On the Grand Canal. Shall we call this afternoon?"

"I don't mind. Of course, I think Ashe is doing an immense amount of
harm."

"Well, you can tell him so," said Mary.

Sir Richard frowned. His daughter's manners seemed to him at times
abrupt.

"Why do you see so little now of Elizabeth Tranmore?" he asked her, with
a sharp look. "You used to be always there. And I don't believe you even
write to her much now."

"Does she see much of anybody?"

"Because, you mean, of Tranmore's condition? What good can she be to him
now? He knows nobody."

"She doesn't seem to ask the question," said Mary, dryly.

A queer, soft look came over Sir Richard's old face.

"No, the women don't," he said, half to himself, and fell into a little
reverie. He emerged from it with the remark--accompanied by a smile, a
little sly but not unkind:

"I always used to hope, Polly, that you and Ashe would have made it up!"

"I'm sure I don't know why," said Mary, fastening up her envelopes. As
she did so it crossed her father's mind that she was still very
good-looking. Her dress of dark-blue cloth, the plain fashion of her
brown hair, her oval face and well-marked features, her plump and pretty
hands, were all pleasant to look upon. She had rather a hard way with
her, though, at times. The servants were always giving warning. And,
personally, he was much fonder of his younger daughter, whom Mary
considered foolish and improvident. But he was well aware that