eason of
our minds and the generosity of our hearts. A detestable thing Tryst has
done, a hateful act; but his punishment will be twentyfold as hateful!'

And, unable to sit and think of it, Felix rose and walked on through the
fields....

CHAPTER XXV

He was duly at Transham station in time for the London train, and,
after a minute consecrated to looking in the wrong direction, he saw
his mother already on the platform with her bag, an air-cushion, and a
beautifully neat roll.

'Travelling third!' he thought. 'Why will she do these things?'

Slightly flushed, she kissed Felix with an air of abstraction.

"How good of you to meet me, darling!"

Felix pointed in silence to the crowded carriage from which she had
emerged. Frances Freeland looked a little rueful. "It would have been
delightful," she said. "There was a dear baby there and, of course, I
couldn't have the window down, so it WAS rather hot."

Felix, who could just see the dear baby, said dryly:

"So that's how you go about, is it? Have you had any lunch?"

Frances Freeland put her hand under his arm. "Now, don't fuss, darling!
Here's sixpence for the porter. There's only one trunk--it's got a
violet label. Do you know them? They're so useful. You see them at once.
I must get you some."

"Let me take those things. You won't want this cushion. I'll let the air
out."

"I'm afraid you won't be able, dear. It's quite the best screw I've ever
come across--a splendid thing; I can't get it undone."

"Ah!" said Felix. "And now we may as well go out to the car!"

He was conscious of a slight stoppage in his mother's footsteps and
rather a convulsive squeeze of her hand on his arm. Looking at her
face, he discovered it occupied with a process whose secret he could
not penetrate, a kind of disarray of her features, rapidly and severely
checked, and capped with a resolute smile. They had already reached the
station exit, where Stanley's car was snorting. Frances Freeland looked
at it, then, mounting rather hastily, sat, compressing her lips.

When they were off, Felix said:

"Would you like to stop at the church and have a look at the brasses to
your grandfather and the rest of them?"

His mother, who had slipped her hand under his arm again, answered:

"No, dear; I've seen them. The church is not at all beautiful. I
like the old church at Becket so much better; it is such a pity your
great-grandfather was not buried there."

She had never quite