she could feel comradely with such emotion,
since she had seen the woman blench at the thought of her son preaching
in the street yet stay complacid at the prospect of him being lost in
intellectual error. So she did not answer.

"You must go for a long walk with Richard to-morrow," said Marion
presently. "Over to Rochford, perhaps, where Anne Boleyn lived. It's
pretty there."

"That would be nice," Ellen answered. She liked it when they talked as
if they were merely strangers. "Do you think it will be fine to-morrow?
Richard said you were awful clever at telling the weather."

"I can't say. I only looked out for a moment. The clouds are going and
the moon's rising. But there's a queer feeling in the air to-night. It's
not like the winter or spring or summer or autumn. It's as if we had
come into some fifth season of the year." She fell silent and sat
tapping the floor with her foot; and asked more loudly but in the same
tone: "What am I to do, Ellen, to keep my sons from quarrelling over
me?"

Ellen was sure she was being mocked; grown-up people never asked one's
advice. She muttered sullenly: "I don't know"; but as she spoke she
heard from Marion's dark shape a sound of discovery such as a searcher
might make when his groping fingers closed on the lost pearl. Its
intensity convinced, and she leaned forward, crying in full friendship:
"You've thought of something to settle them?"

But Marion answered, with that indifference grown nearly to a sneer:
"Oh, no.... Oh, no...."

Ellen leaned back, hating these adults that like to keep their secrets
from the young.

CHAPTER X

Ellen was still on her knees fiddling with the lock of the French window
in an effort to discover why Marion had found it so difficult to open
and shut, when she saw through the lacquer of reflection which the lit
room painted on the uncurtained glass that a dark mass had come to a
halt just outside. It moved, and she perceived that it was a skirt. She
stood up to face the intruder and looked through the glass into Marion's
eyes. For a moment she stared back in undisguised anger. Of course, if
the woman had had any sense she would never have formed this daft idea
of going for a dander on the marshes at this hour of the night, whether
her nerves were troubling her or not; but she never ought to have
pretended to be so set on it, and let a body feel sure of having the
evening alone with Richard as soon as he had finished with those beast