blindly.

"It was.--I have no place but here.--Forgive me--I must go. I can't talk
any more."

"Yes; go; do go and lie down." Lady Elliston, rising too, put an arm
around her shoulders and took her hand. "I'll come again and see you. I
am going up to town for a night or so on Tuesday, but I bring Peggy down
here for the next week-end. I'll see you then.--Ah, here is Augustine,
and tea. He will give me my tea and you must sleep off your headache.
Your poor mother has a very bad headache, Augustine. I have tried her.
Goodbye, dear, go and rest."

VI

An hour ago Augustine had found his mother in tears; now he found her
beyond them. He gave her his arm, and, outside in the hall, prepared to
mount the stairs with her; but, shaking her head, trying, with miserable
unsuccess, to smile, she pointed him back to the drawing-room and to his
duties of host.

"Ah, she is very tired. She does not look well," said Lady Elliston. "I
am glad to see that you take good care of her."

"She is usually very well," said Augustine, standing over the tea-tray
that had been put on the table between him and Lady Elliston. "Let's
see: what do you have? Sugar? milk?"

"No sugar; milk, please. It's such a great pleasure to me to meet your
mother again."

Augustine made no reply to this, handing her her cup and the plate of
bread and butter.

"She was one of the loveliest girls I have ever seen," Lady Elliston
went on, helping herself. "She looked like a Madonna--and a
cowslip.--And she looks like that more than ever." She had paused for a
moment as an uncomfortable recollection came to her. It was Paul Quentin
who had said that: at her house.

"Yes," Augustine assented, pleased, "she does look like a cowslip; she
is so pale and golden and tranquil. It's funny you should say so," he
went on, "for I've often thought it; but with me it's an association of
ideas, too. Those meadows over there, beyond our lawn, are full of
cowslips in Spring and ever since I can remember we have picked them
there together."

"How sweet"; Lady Elliston was still a little confused, by her blunder,
and by his words. "What a happy life you and your mother must have had,
cloistered here. I've been telling your mother that it's like a
cloister. I've been scolding her a little for shutting herself up in it.
And now that I have this chance of talking to you I do very much want to
say that I hope you will bring her out a little more."

"Bring her out? W