uth Africa. Have you noticed it?"

"I have," said John, dryly.

"I don't suppose," said Peter, quickening his steps, "that any one
could realize exactly what I feel about it."

"I think--perhaps--I could," said John, without visible satire, "dimly
and, no doubt, inadequately."

"The fact is," said Peter, and the warm colour rushed into his brown
face, even to his thin temples, "I--I'm hoping to get married very
soon; though nothing's exactly settled yet."

"A man in your position generally marries early," said John. "I think
you're quite right."

"As my mother likes--the girl I want to marry," said Peter, "I hoped
it would make everything straight. But she seems quite miserable at
the thought of settling down quietly in the Dower House."

"Ah! in the Dower House," said John. "Then you will not be wanting her
to live here with you, after all?"

"It's the same thing, though," said Peter, "as I've tried to explain
to her. She'd be only a few yards off; and she could still be looking
after the place and my interests, and all that, as she does now. And
whenever I was down here, I should see her constantly; you know how
devoted I am to my mother. Of course I can't deny I did lead her
to hope I should be always with her. But a man can't help it if he
happens to fall in love. Of course, if--if all happens as I hope, as I
have reason to hope, I shall _have_ to be away from her a good deal.
But that's all in the course of nature as a fellow grows up. I sha'n't
be any the less glad to see her when I _do_ come home. And yet here
she is talking quite wildly of leaving Barracombe altogether, and
going to London, and travelling all over the world, and doing all
sorts of things she's never done in her life. It's not like my mother,
and I can't bear to think of her like that. I tell you she's changed
altogether," said Peter, and there were tears in his grey eyes.

John felt an odd sympathy for the boy; he recognized that though
Peter's limitations were obvious, his anxiety was sincere.

Peter, too, had his ideals; if they were ideals conventional and out
of date, that was hardly his fault. John figured to himself very
distinctly that imaginary mother whom Peter held sacred; the mother
who stayed always at home, and parted her hair plainly, and said many
prayers, and did much needlework; but who, nevertheless, was not, and
never could be, the real Lady Mary, whom Peter did not know. But it
was a tender ideal in its way, thoug