Kynaston sat at her davenport with all the litter of her daily
correspondence before her; her son stood up by the mantelpiece, leaning
his back against it, and looked away out of window at the figures of
Beatrice and his future wife sauntering up and down the garden walks. She
could not well see his face as he spoke these last words.

"Tiresome woman!" cried Lady Kynaston, angrily; "there is no end to the
trouble she causes. John ought to be thankful he is well rid of her. Did
you hear what Beatrice Miller said at lunch about her? I call it shocking
bad taste, her coming up to town and flirting and flaunting about under
poor John's nose--heartless coquette! Creating 'a sensation,' indeed!
That is one of those horrible American expressions that are the fashion
just now!"

"It is no wonder she is admired," said Maurice, dreamily: "she is very
beautiful."

"I wish to goodness she would keep out of John's way. Where did he see
her?"

"It was in the Row, I think, and, from what he said, he only fancied he
saw her back, walking away. I told him, of course, it could not be her,
because I thought she was down at Sutton; but, after what Beatrice told
us at lunch, I make no doubt that it was her, and that John really did
see her."

"I should have thought that your brother would have had more spirit than
to sit down and whine over a woman in that way," said her ladyship,
sharply; "it is really contemptible."

"But if he is ill in body as well as in mind, poor fellow?"

"Pooh! fiddlesticks! I am quite sure, if Helen jilted you, you would bear
it a great deal better--losing the money and all--than he does."

Maurice smiled.

"That is very possible; but a man can't help his disposition, and John
has been utterly shattered by it."

"Well, I am sorry for him, of course; but I confess that I don't see that
anybody can do anything for him."

And then Maurice was silent for a minute. God only knew what passed
through his soul at that minute--what agonies of self-renunciation, what
martyrdom of all that makes life pleasant and dear to a man! It is
certain his mother did not know it.

"I think," he said, after a minute, and only a slight harshness in his
voice marked the internal struggle that the words were to cost him--"I
think, mother, _you_ might do a great deal for him. Miss Nevill is in
town. Could you not see her?"

"I see her! What on earth for?"

"If you were to tell her how ill John is, how desperately he feels