Mrs.
Grey was accustomed to these tactics and it was characteristic of her
not to let people float away if she could possibly help it. This matter
of Augustine's future was frequently in dispute between them. Her feet
planted firmly, her rifle at her shoulder, she seemed now to take aim at
a bird that flew from her.

"And of course you encourage him! You read with him and study with him!
And you won't see that you let him drift more and more out of practical
life and into moonshine. What does it do for him, that's what I ask?
Where does it lead him? What's the good of it? Why he'll finish as a
fusty old don. Does it make you a better man, Augustine, or a happier
one, to spend all your time reading philosophy?"

"Very much better, very much happier, I find:--but I don't give it all
my time, you know," Augustine answered, with much his mother's manner of
light evasion. He let Mrs. Grey see that he found her funny; perhaps he
wished to let her see that philosophy helped him to. Mrs. Grey gave up
the fantastic bird and turned on her heel.

"Well, I've not come to dispute, as usual, with you, Augustine. I've
come to ask you, Lady Channice, if you won't, for once, break through
your rules and come to tea on Sunday. I've a surprise for you. An old
friend of yours is to be of our party for this week-end. Lady Elliston;
she comes tomorrow, and she writes that she hopes to see something of
you."

Mrs. Grey had her eye rather sharply on Lady Channice; she expected to
see her colour rise, and it did rise.

"Lady Elliston?" she repeated, vaguely, or, perhaps, faintly.

"Yes; you did know her; well, she told me."

"It was years ago," said Lady Channice, looking down; "Yes, I knew her
quite well. It would be very nice to see her again. But I don't think I
will break my rule; thank you so much."

Mrs. Grey looked a little disconcerted and a little displeased. "Now
that you are growing up, Augustine," she said, "you must shake your
mother out of her way of life. It's bad for her. She lives here, quite
alone, and, when you are away--as you will have to be more and more, for
some time now,--she sees nobody but her village girls, Mrs. Grier and me
from one month's end to the other. I can't think what she's made of. I
should go mad. And so many of us would be delighted if she would drop in
to tea with us now and then."

"Oh, well, you can drop in to tea with her instead," said Augustine. His
mother sat silent, with her faint smil