When luncheon was served George looked around and asked, 'Kate, where is mother?' 'She is not coming down,' answered Alice, with averted head. 'Not coming down! Is she ill?' 'She is not quite well,' answered Alice softly. 'Then excuse me a few moments. Don't wait for me, Nevill; you sit here and look after them until I come back.' Alice now looked at him and tried to catch his eye, but before she could succeed he had left the room. They waited ten minutes. George did not return. At the end of that time Kate suggested they should wait no more. She said, 'You, Marie, must be fainting for something to eat.' 'Come on,' cried Nevill, 'I am literally starving. If you keep me any longer waiting I'll order up my own boots and have a private picnic on the hearth-rug. It is a rule which never should be broken, to fall to when a man says, "Don't wait for me." I remember once during the great Civil War I was stationed with a small body of sappers and miners on the slope of a hill which was crowned by a church. We were within the enemy's lines, and had to lie almost motionless among some thick undergrowth. The enemy had made a barracks of the church, and our object was to blow up the church at midnight when all the men in the church were asleep. We had only one day's rations with us, and we made up our minds not to eat our principal meal until after dusk. I had two bags, with forty pounds of gunpowder in each. All at once someone said "There goes the curfew--" Yes, I will have another small piece, if you please. I wonder what can be keeping George; he is long over his time already. The brown sherry, thank you. I know it isn't right to take brown sherry; it looks childish. But we are all children, except Mistress Alice. She ought to have a little brandy, I think, to stir the sluggish currents of her blood-- Well, all at once the look-out cries, "Light ahead!" "Where away?" I sang out, raising my glass, and sweeping the horizon. I think I told you it was dark?' 'Yes,' said Alice, with a candid smile, 'and blowing hard.' 'It was blowing a whole gale out of the southward and eastward. I have been at sea many a bad night in my life, but never one like that. The waves rolled mountains high and the spray was something awful. You couldn't see the sky for spray, and you couldn't see the sea for clouds. All at once I heard the cry of 'Man overboard!' I wish George would come. He can't have missed his way, Kate, and gone down to the kitchen. I saw your cook to-day as she took in the bread. Wonderfully pretty girl. Just the kind George in his unguarded moments always told me he liked--Mistress Alice, will you be good enough to tell me at what point of the story I left off.' 'When you looked you saw a shark.' 'Oh yes. I was hanging over the taffrail when under the counter I saw a shark. He was lying on his side and winking at my legs which were hanging over the taffrail. "Ho, ho! my fine fellow!" cried I, "is that where you are?" I told you he had been following in the wake of the ship for several days-- By Jove! George, I thought you'd never come. Sit down. A wing or a leg, George? No fowl? Ah well, the beef is excellent. Now, Mistress Alice, where was I in that story?' 'Somewhere about the stern and the wake.' 'Ah yes. It was the saddest thing I ever saw in all my life. You never saw an Irish wake, Marie?' 'No, never. Tell us about it.' What had happened to George? He was as pale as death. He ate nothing, and his mouth was squared and resolute-looking. 'Ah, never (unless you have a much less susceptible heart than I give you credit for) see a Irish wake. It is most affecting. In this case the poor fellow had been knocked over the stern of a boat in the Upper Lake, Killarney. He had been standing up tending the mainsail, when whiz, bang over goes the boom and knocks the poor fellow into the water. Of course, as he was connected with boats he couldn't swim a stroke, and so he was drowned. Most extraordinary thing, no man connected with ships or boats ever can swim! There ought to be an Act of Parliament forbidding any man to smell tar until he could swim round a man-of-war. Suppose a man on the Fire Brigade out of braggadocio insisted upon going to fires with his uniform steeped in petroleum, we should lock him up as an idiot. Talking of fires reminds me--' Nevill rattled on through the remainder of the time they sat at table, but it was under a great strain and sense of disadvantage. He could plainly see by George's face that the interview between son and mother had not been satisfactory,--in fact, had been decidedly unsatisfactory; but he did not want, if he could help it, the women to be vaguely depressed. He knew that under such circumstances Osborne was incapable of contributing in any way to the ordinary conversation, and that if he spoke all would at once know something was wrong. As soon as they stood up from table, Nevill took Osborne by the arm, led him to another room and said,--'Well. By your appearance I see you and your mother have talked the whole thing over.' 'Yes, we have; and not very pleasantly; at least, I mean, not with pleasant result.' 'What was the result?' 'Well, in brief, she says she has made Marie promise her, as you know, and she means to keep Marie to her promise.' 'And what do you purpose doing?' 'Under the circumstances I cannot stay here. I cannot sleep another night in this house.' 'Don't be absurd, George.' 'If what I tell you is absurd, then you will have no choice but to think me absurd. I intend leaving this house to-night. My mother has made up her mind never to give Marie back her promise; at this time I can see no chance, however remote, of changing my mind. How then can I stay here, under my mother's roof, near Marie? When we came here together it was as two who were going to be married with the approval of my mother. Now that is changed. My mother not only no longer approves, but positively forbids our marriage. It is impossible for me to live under this roof as the accepted lover of Marie, when my mother has said in effect that I shall never be anything but a lover until I change certain opinions which I now see no chance of altering. Honestly, Nevill, you cannot say any other course is open to me; can you?' 'I own it is a very perplexing case, and I find myself in an exceedingly awkward position; for while all my sympathy is with you, I must remember your mother is Kate's mother too.' 'My dear Nevill, I can fully appreciate the difficulty of the situation, and I beg of you to say or do nothing about the matter to anyone after this talk. Of course you will tell Kate all I have told you. What a change since last evening. We had arranged the day. And now I do not know what is to become of us.' 'Have you had a quiet talk with Marie?' 'No; nor do I intend meeting her in private before I leave. How could I meet her here, under my mother's roof, and tell her that I was, because of her presence, obliged to quit my mother's roof? It would be painful and humiliating and useless. No; I shall leave at once. I will write a few lines, and go back to London to-night. When I get there I shall decide what further course I may follow.' 'But she may take queer notions into her head, George, when she finds you are gone.' 'She may, but I hope she will not. I think I may leave a good deal to her common-sense.' 'And have you no idea of what your ultimate course will be?' 'I have a very clear idea of what I shall try to do. I shall try to make Marie accept me as I am, and trust to chance for my reformation.' 'And the only reason you have to think she will not marry you is because of the promise she gave your mother yesterday?' 'That is the only reason.' 'All I can say is, George, that you deserve well, and I wish you well.' 'Thank you. I am sure you do.'