o encourage a frankness and
directness of intercourse that made absurd these roundabout
postponements of actual problems.

"Charitable to societies," Prescott explained. "I don't want her to
think she's got to endow half a dozen committees with money and
occupation."

"Stella's a little worried about mother's charities," Michael admitted.

"Awful good sort, Stella," Prescott jerked out. "Frightens me
devilishly. Never could stand very clever people. Oh, I like them very
much, but I always feel like a piece of furniture they want to move out
of their way. Used to be in the Welsh Guards with your father," he added
vaguely.

"Did you know my father when he first met my mother?" Michael asked
directly, and by his directness tripped up Prescott into a headlong
account.

"Oh, yes, rather. I sent in my papers when he did. Chartered a yacht and
sailed all over the Mediterranean. Good gracious, twenty years ago! How
old we're all getting. Poor old Saxby was always anxious that no kind
of"--Prescott gibbed at the word for a moment or two--"no kind of slur
should be attached.... I mean, for instance, Mrs. Fane might have had to
meet the sort of women, you know, well, what I mean is ... there was
nothing of the sort. Saxby was a Puritan, and yet he was always a
rattling good sort. Only of course your mother was always cut off from
women's society. Couldn't be helped, but I don't want her now to overdo
it. Glad she's taken this house, though. What are you going to be?"

Michael was saved from any declaration of his intentions by a ring at
the front door, which shrilled like an alarm through the empty house.
Soon all embarrassments were lost in his mother's graceful and elusive
presence that seemed to furnish every room in turn with rich
associations of leisure and tranquillity, and with its fine assurance to
muffle all the echoes and the emptiness. Stella, who had arrived with
Mrs. Fane, was rushing from window to window, trying patterns of chintz
and damask and Roman satin; and all her notions of decoration that she
flung up like released birds seemed to flutter for a while in a
confusion of winged argument between her and Michael, while Mr. Prescott
listened with an expression on his wrinkling forehead of admiring
perplexity. But every idea would quickly be gathered in by Mrs. Fane,
and when she had smoothed its ruffled doubts and fears, it would fly
with greater certainty, until room by room and window by window and
corne