he knew not what, that she
had felt so often in her first years at Worsted Skeynes. And sitting
there on a green-painted seat under the largest of the cherry-trees, she
thought even more than her wont of George, as though her son's spirit,
vibrating in its first real passion, were calling to her for sympathy.

He had been down so little all that winter, twice for a couple of days'
shooting, once for a week-end, when she had thought him looking thinner
and rather worn. He had missed Christmas for the first time. With
infinite precaution she had asked him casually if he had seen Helen
Bellew, and he had answered, "Oh yes, I see her once in a way!"

Secretly all through the winter she consulted the Times newspaper for
mention of George's horse, and was disappointed not to find any. One
day, however, in February, discovering him absolutely at the head of
several lists of horses with figures after them, she wrote off at once
with a joyful heart. Of five lists in which the Ambler's name appeared,
there was only one in which he was second. George's answer came in the
course of a week or so.
"MY DEAR MOTHER,

"What you saw were the weights for the Spring Handicaps. They've simply
done me out of everything. In great haste,

"Your affectionate son,
"GEORGE PENDYCE."

As the spring approached, the vision of her independent visit to London,
which had sustained her throughout the winter, having performed its
annual function, grew mistier and mistier, and at last faded away. She
ceased even to dream of it, as though it had never been, nor did George
remind her, and as usual, she ceased even to wonder whether he would
remind her. She thought instead of the season visit, and its scurry of
parties, with a sort of languid fluttering. For Worsted Skeynes, and all
that Worsted Skeynes stood for, was like a heavy horseman guiding her
with iron hands along a narrow lane; she dreamed of throwing him in the
open, but the open she never reached.

She woke at seven with her tea, and from seven to eight made little notes
on tablets, while on his back Mr. Pendyce snored lightly. She rose at
eight. At nine she poured out coffee. From half-past nine to ten she
attended to the housekeeper and her birds. From ten to eleven she
attended to the gardener and her dress. From eleven to twelve she wrote
invitations to persons for whom she did not care, and acceptances to
persons who did not care for her; she drew out also and placed in