ut I want to give him something
more than I ever managed to give you."

"Naturally," said Michael, smiling. "He's your son."

"Michael, would you be surprised if I told you that I thought of...."
Mrs. Ross broke off abruptly. "No, I won't tell you yet."

"You're full of unrevealed mysteries," said Michael.

"Yes, it's bedtime for me. Good night."

Two mornings later Michael had a letter from his mother in London. He
wondered why he should be vaguely surprised by her hurried return.
Surely Prescott's death could not have been a reason to bring her home.

173 CHEYNE WALK,

S.W.

My dearest Michael,

I'm so dreadfully upset about poor Dick Prescott. I have so few old
friends, so very few, that I can't afford to lose him. His devotion
to your father was perfectly wonderful. He gave up everything to
us. He remained in society just enough to be of use to your father,
but he was nearly always with us. I think he was fond of me, but he
worshiped him. Perhaps I was wrong in trying to encourage the idea
of marrying Stella. But I console myself by saying that that had
nothing to do with this idea of his to take his own life. You see,
when your father died, he found himself alone. I've been so
selfishly interested in re-entering life. He had no wish to do so.
Michael, I can't write anything more about it. Perhaps, dearest
boy, you wouldn't mind giving up some of your time with the
Carthews, and will come back earlier to be with me in London for a
little time.

Your loving

Mother.

P.S.--I hope the funeral was properly done.

Michael realized with a start the loneliness of his mother, and in his
mood of self-reproachfulness attacked himself for having neglected her
ever since the interests of Oxford had arisen to occupy his own life so
satisfyingly. He told Mrs. Ross of the letter, and she agreed with him
in thinking he ought to go back to London at once. Michael had only time
for a very short talk with old Mrs. Carthew before the chaise would
arrive.

"There has been a fate upon this visit," said the old lady. "And I'm
sorry for it. I'd promised myself a great many talks with you. Besides,
you'll miss Alan now, and he'll be disappointed, and as for Nancy,
she'll be miserable."

"But I must go," Michael said.

"Of course you must go," said Mrs. Carthew, thumping with her stick on
the gravel path. "You must alway