ildren."

Sounded on this subject, however, John said dryly: "Emma's influence
would be undesirable for the little ones." His prejudice in favour of
his second wife's children was an eternal riddle to his sister. He
dandled even the youngest, whom he had not seen since its birth, with
visible pleasure.

"It must be the black eyes," said Mary to herself; and shook her head
at men's irrationality. For Jinny's offspring had none of the grace and
beauty that marked the two elder children.

And now the last night had come; and they were gathered, a family
party, round John's mahogany. The cloth had been removed; nuts and port
were passing. As it was a unique occasion the ladies had been excused
from withdrawing, and the gentlemen left their cigars unlighted. Mary's
eyes roved fondly from one face to another. There was Tilly, come over
from her hotel--("Nothing would induce me to spend a night under his
roof, Mary")--Tilly sat hugging one of the children, who had run in for
the almonds and raisins of dessert. "What a mother lost in her!" sighed
Mary once more. There was Zara, so far reconciled to her brother as to
consent to be present; but only speaking at him, not to him. And dear
Jerry, eager and alert, taking so intelligent a share in what was said.
Poor Ned alone was wanting, neither Richard nor John having offered to
pay his fare to town. Young Johnny's seat was vacant, too, for the boy
had vanished directly dinner was over.

In the harmony of the evening there was just one jarring note for Mary;
and at moments she grew very thoughtful. For the first time Mrs. Kelly,
the motherly widow on whom her choice had fallen, sat opposite John at
the head of the table; and already Mary was the prey of a nagging
doubt. For this person had doffed the neat mourning-garb she had worn
when being engaged, and come forth in a cap trimmed with cherry
coloured ribbons. Not only this, she smiled in sugary fashion and far
too readily; while the extreme humility with which she deferred to
John's opinion, and hung on his lips, made another bad impression on
Mary. Nor was she alone in her observations. After a particularly
glaring example of the widow's complaisance, Tilly looked across and
shut one eye, in an unmistakable wink.

Meanwhile the men's talk had gradually petered out: there came long
pauses in which they twiddled and twirled their wine-glasses, unable to
think of anything to say. At heart, both John and Mahony hailed with a