idence in her, but she never blamed herself for the barrier that
seemed between them. She was forever asserting maternal authority,
when such questions might have been safely laid to rest between her
and her grown-up daughters. Mrs. Challoner's oneness of sympathy with
her girls, her lax discipline, her perfect equality, would have
shocked a woman of Mrs. Drummond's calibre. She would not have
tolerated or understood it for a moment.

"My girls must do as I wish," was a very ordinary speech in her mouth.
"I always do as my girls wish," Mrs. Challoner would have said. And,
indeed, the two mothers were utterly dissimilar; but it may be doubted
whether the Challoner household were not far happier than the family
in Lowder Street.

CHAPTER XIV.

"YOU CAN DARE TO TELL ME THESE THINGS."

Archibald Drummond had left his mother's presence with a cloud on his
brow. He had plenty of filial affection for her, but it was not the
first time that he had found her too much for him. She had often
angered him before by her treatment of Grace, but he had told himself
that she was his mother, that a man could have but one, and so he had
brought himself to forgive her. But this time she had set herself
against the cherished plan of years. He had always looked forward to
the time when he could have Grace to live with him; they had made all
sorts of schemes together, and all their talk had concentrated itself
towards this point; the disappointment would place a sort of blankness
before them; they would be working separately, far away from each
other, and the distance would not be bridged for years.

He stood for a moment in the dark, narrow hall, thinking intently over
all this, and then he went slowly upstairs. He knew where he should
find Grace. His mother had paid an unwonted visit to the school-room
during their walk, and on their return had expressed herself with some
degree of sharpness on the disorder she had found there. Grace would
be busily engaged in putting everything to rights. It was Clara's
business, but she had gone out, and had, as usual, forgotten all about
it. Grace had taken the blame upon herself, of course: she was always
shielding her younger sisters.

Everything was done when he entered the room, and Grace was sitting by
the window, with her hands folded in her lap, indulging in a few
minutes' rare idleness. She looked up eagerly as her brother made his
appearance.

The school-room was a large, bare-l