t from a casual newspaper paragraph. As for interfering between her
and her rich deserts, Doris vowed to herself she would not lift a
finger. That incredibly forgiving young woman, Miss Wigram, might do as
she pleased. But when a mother pursues her own selfish ends so as to
make her only son dislike and shun her, let her take what comes. It was
in the mood of an Erinnys that Doris made her way northwards to Campden
Hill, and nobody perceiving the slight erect figure in the corner of the
omnibus could possibly have guessed at the storm within.

The August day was hot and lifeless. Heat mist lay over the park, and
over the gardens on the slopes of Campden Hill. Doris could hardly drag
her weary feet along, as she walked from where the omnibus had set her
down to her uncle's studio. But it was soon evident that within the
studio itself there was animation enough. From the long passage
approaching it Doris heard someone shouting--declaiming--what appeared
to be verse. Madame, of course, reciting her own poems--poor Uncle
Charles! Doris stopped outside the door, which was slightly open, to
listen, and heard these astonishing lines--delivered very slowly and
pompously, in a thick, strained voice:

"My heart is adamant! The tear-drops drip and drip--
Force their slow path, and tear their desperate way.
The vulture Pain sits close, to snip--and snip--and snip
My sad, sweet life to ruin--well-a-day!
I am deceived--a bleating lamb bereft!--who goes
Baa-baaing to the moon o'er lonely lands.
Through all my shivering veins a tender fervour flows;
I cry to Love--'Reach out, my Lord, thy hands!
And save me from these ugly beasts who ramp and rage
Around me all day long--beasts fell and sore--
Envy, and Hate, and Calumny!--do thou assuage
Their impious mouths, O splendid Love, and floor
Their hideous tactics, and their noisome spleen,
Withering to dust the awful "Might-Have-Been!"'"

"Goodness! 'Howls the Sublime' indeed!" thought Doris, gurgling with
laughter in the passage. As soon as she had steadied her face she opened
the studio door, and perceived Lady Dunstable's prospective
daughter-in-law standing in the middle of the studio, head thrown back
and hands outstretched, invoking the Cyprian. The shriek of the first
lines had died away in a stage whisper; the reciter was glaring fiercely
into vacancy.

Doris's merry eyes devoured the scene. On the chair fro