my duty
as a mother was clear, Mr. Gillingham."

Mr. Gillingham made an encouraging noise.

"I told him quite frankly that--how shall I put it?--that he was
trespassing. Tactfully, of course. But frankly."

"You mean," said Antony, trying to speak calmly, "that you told him
that--er--Mr. Ablett and your daughter--?"

Mrs. Norbury nodded several times.

"Exactly, Mr. Gillingham. I had my duty as a mother."

"I am sure, Mrs. Norbury, that nothing would keep you from doing your
duty. But it must have been disagreeable. Particularly if you weren't
quite sure--"

"He was attracted, Mr. Gillingham. Obviously attracted."

"Who would not be?" said Antony, with a charming smile. "It must have
been something of a shock to him to--"

"It was just that which made me so glad that I had spoken. I saw at once
that I had not spoken a moment too soon."

"There must have been a certain awkwardness about the next meeting,"
suggested Antony.

"Naturally, he has not been here since. No doubt they would have been
bound to meet up at the Red House sooner or later."

"Oh,--this was only quite lately?"

"Last week, Mr. Gillingham. I spoke just in time."

"Ah!" said Antony, under his breath. He had been waiting for it.

He would have liked now to have gone away, so that he might have thought
over the new situation by himself; or, perhaps preferably, to have
changed partners for a little while with Bill. Miss Norbury would hardly
be ready to confide in a stranger with the readiness of a mother, but he
might have learnt something by listening to her. For which of them had
she the greater feeling, Cayley or Mark? Was she really prepared to
marry Mark? Did she love him or the other--or neither? Mrs. Norbury was
only a trustworthy witness in regard to her own actions and thoughts;
he had learnt all that was necessary of those, and only the daughter now
had anything left to tell him. But Mrs. Norbury was still talking.

"Girls are so foolish, Mr. Gillingham," she was saying. "It is fortunate
that they have mothers to guide them. It was so obvious to me from the
beginning that dear Mr. Ablett was just the husband for my little girl.
You never knew him?"

Antony said again that he had not seen Mr. Ablett.

"Such a gentleman. So nice-looking, in his artistic way. A regular
Velasquez--I should say Van Dyck. Angela would have it that she could
never marry a man with a beard. As if that mattered, when--" She broke
off, and Antony fini