ut it made no difference. There is no holding her in check now,
Sholto; she cares no more for what I say than if I was her father or
you. What could I do but kiss and forgive her? She got the better of
me."

"Yes," said Douglas, gloomily. "She has a wonderful face."

"The less you see of her face, the better, Sholto. I hope you will not
go to her house too often."

"Do you doubt my discretion, mother?"

"No, no, Sholto. But I am afraid of any unpleasantness arising between
you and that man. These working men are so savage to their wives, and so
jealous of gentlemen. I hardly like your going into his house at all."

"Absurd, mother! You must not think that he is a navvy in fustian and
corduroys. He seems a sensible man: his address is really remarkably
good, considering what he is. As to his being savage, he is quite the
reverse. His head is full of figures and machinery; and I am told that
he does nothing at home but play the piano. He must bore Marian
terribly. I do not want to go to his house particularly; but Marian and
he are, of course, very sensitive to anything that can be construed as a
slight; and I shall visit them once or twice to prevent them from
thinking that I wish to snub Conolly. He will be glad enough to have me
at his dinner-table. I am afraid I must hurry away now: I have an
appointment at the club. Can I do anything for you in town?"

"No, thank you, Sholto. I thought you would have stayed with me for a
cup of tea."

"Thank you, dear mother, no: not to-day. I promised to be at the club."

"If you promised, of course, you must go. Good-bye. You will come again
soon, will you not?"

"Some day next week, if not sooner. Good-bye, mother."

Douglas left Manchester Square, not to go to his club, where he had no
real appointment, but to avoid spending the afternoon with his mother,
who, though a little hurt at his leaving her, was also somewhat relieved
by being rid of him. They maintained toward one another an attitude
which their friends found beautiful and edifying; but, like artists'
models, they found the attitude fatiguing, in spite of their practice
and its dignity.

At Hyde Park Corner, Douglas heard his name unceremoniously shouted.
Turning, he saw Marmaduke Lind, carelessly dressed, walking a little
behind him.

"Where are you going to?" said Marmaduke, abruptly.

"Why do you ask?" said Douglas, never disposed to admit the right of
another to question him.

"I want to have a tal