u must have heard the whole account of my conversation with
Mrs. Bryce.'

'Oh, you mean Harcourt's sister, with whom you have been staying. Did I
not tell you that I had heard every word, and was admiring your
admirable tactics? The way in which you marshalled your forces of
half-truths and implied verities and small mounted theories was
grand--absolutely grand!'

Mrs. Harcourt was silent for a moment. Michael was very trying; he often
exercised her patience most severely. But there was a threefold reason
for her forbearance; first, he was her father's cousin, and beloved by
him as his own son would have been if he had ever had one; secondly, his
ill-health entitled him to a good deal of consideration from any
kind-hearted woman; and thirdly, and perhaps principally, he had the
reputation for saying and doing odd, out-of-the-way things; and a man
who moves in an eccentric circle of his own is never on other people's
plane, and therefore some allowance must be made for him.

Mrs. Harcourt could, however, have heartily endorsed Mrs. Carlyle's
opinion of her gifted son, and applied it to her cousin--'He was ill to
live with.' Somehow one loves this honest, shrewd criticism of the old
North-Country woman, the homely body who smoked short black pipes in the
chimney-corner, but whom Carlyle loved and venerated from the bottom of
his big heart. 'Ill to live with'--perhaps Michael Burnett, with his
injured health and Victoria Cross, and the purpose of his life all
marred and frustrated, was not the easiest person in the world.

Mrs. Harcourt was silent for an instant; but she never permitted herself
to be ruffled, so she went on in her smooth voice:

'I felt it was my duty to repeat to mother all that Edith--I mean Mrs.
Bryce--told me about the Blakes.'

'Please do not be so formal. I infinitely prefer that fine,
princess-like name of Edith,' remarked Michael, with a lazy twinkle in
his eyes; but Mrs. Harcourt would not condescend even to notice the
interruption.

'Mrs. Bryce,' with a pointed emphasis on the name, 'was much concerned
when she heard that my father had engaged Mr. Blake for his classical
master.'

'And why so?' demanded Captain Burnett a little sharply. 'He has taken a
good degree; Dr. Ross seems perfectly satisfied with him.'

'Oh, there is nothing against the young man; he is clever and pleasant,
and very good-looking. It is only the mother who is so objectionable.
Perhaps I am putting it too strongl