Then Cedric laughed.

"Mealy Murphy! Oh my prophetic soul, I forgot the youthful Malachi. I
say, Herrick, I was just thinking, as you were writing just now, how
odd it seems that I have known you just two years, and you have never
been near the Wood House yet."

"It has not been for want of invitations," returned his friend with a
smile. "Don't you remember that when you first kindly asked me I had
arranged to take my mother abroad, and the next time I was going to
Scotland with a friend?"

"Oh yes, and the third time you were moving into your new diggings in
Cheyne Walk." Cedric spoke with a touch of impatience.

"But we have often met at Oxford," observed Malcolm smilingly. And then
he coloured slightly and continued in an embarrassed voice, "I am
afraid, my dear fellow, that you have rather wondered that you have not
been invited to No. 27 Queen's Gate; but, as I once explained to you,
the house belongs to my mother."

"Just as the Wood House belongs to Dinah and Elizabeth," returned
Cedric.

"Ah, just so; but there is a difference. My mother is not quite like
other ladies. Her life, and I may say the greater part of her fortune,
are devoted to charitable objects. If I had invited you to stay with us
you would have been simply bored to death. Amusement, social
obligations, the duties we owe to society, do not belong to my mother's
creed at all. If I might borrow a word from a renowned novelist, I
would call her 'a charitable grinder,' for she grinds from morning till
night at a never-ceasing wheel of committees, meetings, and Heaven
knows what besides."

"She reminds me of the immortal Mrs. Jellyby," observed Cedric airily;
but Malcolm shook his head.

"No, there is no resemblance. My mother is a clear-headed, practical
woman. She manages her house herself, and the domestic machinery goes
like clockwork. The servants know their duty and do their work well;
and I have heard our old nurse say that one could eat off the floor;
but in spite of all this the word 'comfort' does not enter my mother's
vocabulary."

"Good gracious! Herrick."

"She has splendid health," continued Malcolm gravely, "and work is a
perfect passion with her. She is energy incarnate, and among her
fellow-workers she is much respected. Unfortunately she expects her
belongings to live up to her standard." Here Malcolm paused.

"You mean Miss Sheldon has to work too?" observed Cedric.

"Yes, I mean that," returned Malcolm slowly. "S