Romer's mother usually received him with a sarcastic remark, such as "Oh, so you remember that I'm not dead yet?" or "I wonder you find time to come at all," or something of the same nature, calculated to cast a gloom over any visit.

The widow of a rich brewer, Mrs. Wyburn lived in a bad-tempered looking old house in Curzon Street, with a harassed footman, a domineering maid, a cross cook, and other servants that were continually changing. She was one of those excellent housekeepers who spend most of their time "giving notice" and "taking up" characters. She nearly always wore a hard-looking black silk dress. She had parted black hair, long earrings, and a knot of rare old imitation lace at her throat. Eagerness, impatience, love of teasing and sharp wit were visible in her face to one who could read between the lines. But, notwithstanding this, as she had a soft heart and plenty of hard cash, she was not altogether unpopular. People enjoyed going to hear the nasty things she said about their friends. She had a real succÈs de scandale on her Wednesdays, notwithstanding the fact that a more highly respectable lady had never existed in the world.

She adored Romer, although his slow speech and long pauses often drove her to the very verge of violence.

"Thought I'd look in," he remarked, rather heavily taking a seat in the dark drawing-room, and he proceeded by slow stages to tell her that he was coming to dinner on Thursday because Valentia was going out.

She gave him a quick look, combined of motherly pride and annoyance.

"Delighted, of course, dear. Who did you say was Valentia's hostess?"

"She's going with Daphne. Harry's dinner. At some restaurant."

"Oh, indeed!... Well, if you approve of these Bohemian arrangements it's not my business. I have my own opinion of Harry de Freyne; I always have had—and I shall keep it."

"Do," said Romer, unconsciously epigrammatic.

She waited a minute and then said—"I don't wish to worry you, my dear ..."

"No?"

"... But I, personally, if I were a man ... perhaps I oughtn't to say it—if I saw my wife so much in the society of a person like Harry de Freyne—upon my word, I should begin to ask myself what were their relations!"

"Cousins," said Romer.

He began to tap his foot slowly against the rail of the chair, but remembered Valentia's constant advice, and decided he would not quarrel.

"Well, you know your affairs best, dear. I'm only an interfering disagreeable old woman, who knows very little of modern customs and ways."

He nodded sympathetically, without answering.

"I love and admire Valentia—in many ways. She's so pretty, but not a mere doll! And we women—even the happiest of us—have to go through so much! Does she go through the housekeeping books herself, dear?" Mrs. Wyburn inquired, with dangerous sweetness.

"Shouldn't think so."

"Ah! that seems rather a pity. Still, I'm just to every one, and I will say that she's not extravagant—but has so much cleverness that she could manage very well on half the allowance you give her!"

"Is that new—that china bird?" Romer asked, getting up to look at a strange, shiny, abnormal-looking parrot on a twig that adorned the mantelpiece.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

"It seems all right. Rather jolly."

"Oh! Well, it's funny you haven't noticed it before. Considering it's been there all your life, and you used to play with it when you were four, it's odd it's escaped your notice. You played with it when you were four!" she repeated, growing rather heated.

"Did I though?"

"But things do escape your notice—that's just the point. I sometimes wish I didn't see so much myself."

"So do I," he answered. "May I smoke, mother?"

"Of course you may, dear. You may do anything on earth you like. Have some tea? I never have anything but China tea, so it won't do you any harm."

"I hate China tea," he answered reflectively, after what seemed to his mother about half an hour's deep thought.

... "But what I always have said about Valentia is that though we all admit, dear, that she has charming manners, is bright and amusing and very sweet——"

He smiled.

"Outwardly, is there anything behind it all? Has she any depth?" She quickly answered her own question, "I think she has; a great deal. I believe Valentia is extremely clever in her own way; she turns you round her little finger. But that wouldn't matter so much—anything's better than quarrelling and snapping and finding fault continually—which is a thing I hate. But, really, there's one point I'm quite anxious about—in fact, I often lie awake the whole night—the entire night—and wake up in the morning utterly worn out through thinking about it, Romer dear. There's nothing like a mother's heart—and this does make me anxious, I own."

"What?"

"Why, that she should ever be talked about! That she should be considered a flirt—and that sort of thing! I couldn't bear the idea of my son's wife having her name coupled with that of any young man—or any nonsense of that sort. It would be most painful to me. I'm sure I ask every one who knows her if anything of that kind is ever said."

Romer threw away the cigarette and stood up."What infernal rot!" he said, with a heightened colour.

Her eyes brightened with pleasure. She was delighted to have irritated him at last out of his calmness.

"Well, well, perhaps I'm a little over-anxious. It's all love, all devotion to you, dear. Of course, people do talk. There's no doubt about that; but good gracious! we all know there's nothing in it. Don't we? Don't be cross with your poor old mother, Romer."

"That's all right. I must be off. Eight on Thursday, eh?"

She kissed him affectionately, walked with him to the landing, where she kept him for about ten minutes complaining of the awful worry she had had about the under-housemaid, and of the sickening impossibility of getting a piano-tuner to attend to the instrument properly without making any sound.

"For I'm a mass of nerves, my dear. Give my best love to dear Valentia."