se. The countess had sense
enough to see that she was only losing ground by argument. She rose and
replaced her cheque-book in her bag.

"I think, my good girl, you must be mad," she said; "if you will not
allow me to do anything for you, there's an end to the matter. I did not
come here to quarrel with you. My son knows his duty to me and to his
family. You must take your own course, and I must take mine."

"Very well, my lady," said Mary Sewell, holding the door open for her
ladyship to pass out, "we shall see who wins."

But however brave a front Mary Sewell may have maintained before the
enemy, I expect she felt pretty limp when thinking matters calmly over
after her ladyship's departure. She knew her lover well enough to guess
that he would be as wax in the firm hands of his mother, while she
herself would not have a chance of opposing her influence against those
seeking to draw him away from her. Once again she read through the few
schoolboy letters he had written her, and then looked up at the framed
photograph that hung above the mantelpiece of her little bedroom. The
face was that of a frank, pleasant-looking young fellow, lightened by
eyes somewhat large for a man, but spoiled by a painfully weak mouth. The
more Mary Sewell thought, the more sure she felt in her own mind that he
loved her, and had meant honestly by her. Did the matter rest with him,
she might reckon on being the future Countess of ---, but, unfortunately
for her, the person to be considered was not Lord C---, but the present
Countess of ---. From childhood, through boyhood, into manhood it had
never once occurred to Lord C--- to dispute a single command of his
mother's, and his was not the type of brain to readily receive new ideas.
If she was to win in the unequal contest it would have to be by art, not
by strength. She sat down and wrote a letter which under all the
circumstances was a model of diplomacy. She knew that it would be read
by the countess, and, writing it, she kept both mother and son in mind.
She made no reproaches, and indulged in but little sentiment. It was the
letter of a woman who could claim rights, but who asked only for
courtesy. It stated her wish to see him alone and obtain from his own
lips the assurance that he wished their engagement to cease. "Do not
fear," Mary Sewell wrote, "that I shall be any annoyance to you. My own
pride would not let me urge you to marry me against your desire, and I
care