I was better than Caesar's
wife, Mary, for no breath of suspicion ever rested upon my name. But if
I had married Ronald Hollister, I should have been a happy woman; and
that I have never been since I parted from him.'

'You have never seen the present Lord Hartfield, I think?'

'Never; but I have watched his career, I have thought of him. His father
died while he was an infant, and he was brought up in seclusion by a
widowed mother, who kept him tied to her apron-strings till he went to
Oxford. She idolised him, and I am told she taught herself Latin and
Greek, mathematics even, in order to help him in his boyish, studies,
and, later on, read Greek plays and Latin poetry with him, till she
became an exceptional classic for a woman. She was her son's companion
and friend, sympathised with his tastes, his pleasures, his friendships;
devoted every hour of her life, every thought of her mind to his
welfare, his interests, walked with him, rode with him, travelled half
over Europe, yachted with him. Her friends all declared that the lad
would grow up an odious milksop; but I am told that there never was a
manlier man than Lord Hartfield. From his boyhood he was his mother's
protector, helped to administer her affairs, acquired a premature sense
of responsibility, and escaped almost all those vices which make young
men detestable. His mother died within a few months of his majority. He
was broken-hearted at losing her, and left Europe immediately after her
death. From that time he has been a great traveller. But I suppose now
that he has taken his seat in the House of Lords, and has spoken a good
many times, he means to settle down and take his place among the
foremost men of his day. I am told that he is worthy to take such a
place.'

'You must feel warmly interested in watching his career,' said Mary,
sympathetically.

'I am interested in everything that concerns him. I will tell you
another secret, Mary. I think I am getting into my dotage, my dear, or I
should hardly talk to you like this,' said Lady Maulevrier, with a touch
of bitterness.

Mary was sitting on a stool by the sofa, close to the invalid's pillow.
She clasped her grandmother's hand and kissed it fondly.

'Dear grandmother, I think you are talking to me like this to-day
because you are beginning to care for me a little,' she said, tenderly.

'Oh, my dear, you are very good, very sweet and forgiving to care for me
at all, after my neglect of you,' answ