lone in her little morning-room; as far as she knew,
she was alone in the house; Mrs. Romer had driven into London, on the
cares of her trousseau intent, and she believed that Maurice had gone
with her; at all events, she had heard him state his intention of going,
and the departing carriage had, some time since, driven away from the
door.

The morning-room looked on to the garden side of the house, and the
windows were wide open; the east wind had departed, and summer had set in
at last. Real summer, coming in with a rush when it did come, with warm
whiffs of flower-scented wind, with flutterings of lime blossoms from the
trees along the high brick wall, with brown bees and saffron butterflies
hovering over the reviving flower-borders, and dragon-flies darting out
of the shadows into the hot blinding sunshine. Summer at last; and oh,
how welcome when it comes upon our rain-drenched and winter-pinched land.

The gardener was bedding out the geraniums along the straight ribbon
border. Lady Kynaston went out once to superintend his operations,
holding up a newspaper in her hand to shield her head from the rays of
the sun. But it was hot, and old McCloud, the Scotch gardener, was
intelligent enough to be safely left to his own devices, so she did not
stop out long.

She came in again, and sat down in a low basket-chair by the window, and
thought how wise she had been to settle herself down in the old house
with its velvet lawns and its wide shadowy trees, instead of in the heat
and turmoil of a London home.

She looked a little anxious and worried to-day--she was not happy about
her eldest son--somebody had told her last night that he was talking
about going to Australia, and turning sheep farmer. Lady Kynaston was
annoyed at the report; it did not strike her as seemly or right that the
head of the Kynaston family should become a sheep farmer. Moreover, she
knew very well that he only wanted to get himself away out of the country
where no one would know of his story, or remind him of his trouble again.
The man's heart was broken. He did not want to farm sheep, or to take to
any other rational or healthful employment; he only wanted, like a sick
animal, to creep away and hide his hurt. Little as Lady Kynaston had in
common with her eldest son, she was sorry for him. She would have done
what she could to help him had she known how. She had written to him only
yesterday, begging him to come to her, but he had not replied t