f fifty, had averted the peril up till now.

Eustace had accompanied his mother to America. It was his faint snores
which she could hear in the adjoining room as, having bathed and
dressed, she went down the hall to where breakfast awaited her. She
smiled tolerantly. She had never desired to convert her son to her own
early-rising habits, for, apart from not allowing him to call his soul
his own, she was an indulgent mother. Eustace would get up at half-past
nine, long after she had finished breakfast, read her correspondence,
and started her duties for the day.

Breakfast was on the table in the sitting-room, a modest meal of rolls,
porridge, and imitation coffee. Beside the pot containing this
hell-brew, was a little pile of letters. Mrs. Hignett opened them as she
ate. The majority were from disciples and dealt with matters of purely
theosophical interest. There was an invitation from the Butterfly Club,
asking her to be the guest of honour at their weekly dinner. There was a
letter from her brother Mallaby--Sir Mallaby Marlowe, the eminent London
lawyer--saying that his son Sam, of whom she had never approved, would
be in New York shortly, passing through on his way back to England, and
hoping that she would see something of him. Altogether a dull mail. Mrs.
Hignett skimmed through it without interest, setting aside one or two of
the letters for Eustace, who acted as her unpaid secretary, to answer
later in the day.

She had just risen from the table, when there was a sound of voices in
the hall, and presently the domestic staff, a gaunt Irish lady of
advanced years, entered the room.

"Ma'am, there was a gentleman."

Mrs. Hignett was annoyed. Her mornings were sacred.

"Didn't you tell him I was not to be disturbed?"

"I did not. I loosed him into the parlour." The staff remained for a
moment in melancholy silence, then resumed. "He says he's your nephew.
His name's Marlowe."

Mrs. Hignett experienced no diminution of her annoyance. She had not
seen her nephew Sam for ten years, and would have been willing to extend
the period. She remembered him as an untidy small boy who once or twice,
during his school holidays, had disturbed the cloistral peace of Windles
with his beastly presence. However, blood being thicker than water, and
all that sort of thing, she supposed she would have to give him five
minutes. She went into the sitting-room, and found there a young man who
looked more or less like all other yo