ilence; then:

"Louis, are you speaking with any thought of--that woman in your mind?"
she asked in a voice that quivered slightly.

"Yes, mother."

"I knew it," she said, under her breath; "I knew it was that--I knew
what had changed you--was changing you."

"Have I altered for the worse?"

"I don't know--I don't know, Louis!" She was leaning heavily on his
elbow now; he put one arm around her and they walked very slowly over
the fragrant grass.

"First of all, mother, please don't call her, 'that woman.' Because she
is a very sweet, innocent, and blameless girl.... Will you let me tell
you a little about her?"

His mother bent her head in silence; and for a long while he talked to
her of Valerie.

The sun still hung high over the Estwich hills when he ended. His
mother, pale, silent, offered no comment until, in his trouble, he urged
her. Then she said:

"Your father will never consent."

"Let me talk to father. Will _you_ consent?"

"I--Louis--it would break our hearts if--"

"Not when you know her."

"Lily knows her and is bitterly opposed to her--"

"What!" he exclaimed, astounded. "You say that my sister knows Valerie
West?"

"I--forgot," faltered his mother; "I ought not to have said anything."

"Where did Lily meet her?" he asked, bewildered.

"Don't ask me, Louis. I should not have spoken--"

"Yes, you should have! It is my affair; it concerns me--and it concerns
Valerie--her future and mine--our happiness. Where did Lily meet her?"

"You must ask that of Lily. I cannot and will not discuss it. I will say
only this: I have seen the--this Miss West. She is at present a guest at
the villa of a--countess--of whom neither your father nor I ever before
heard--and whom even Lily knows so slightly that she scarcely bows to
her. And yesterday, while motoring, we met them driving on the Estwich
road and your sister told us who they were."

After a moment he said slowly: "So you have actually seen the girl I am
in love with?"

"I saw--Miss West."

"Can't you understand that I _am_ in love with her?"

"Even if you are it is better for you to conquer your inclination--"

"Why?"

"Because all your life long you will regret such a marriage."

"Why?"

"Because nobody will care to receive a woman for whom you can make no
explanation--even if you are married to her."

He kept his patience.

"Will _you_ receive her, mother?"

She closed her eyes, drew a quick, painful breath: "My son's
w