her son, who was already waiting for
her--impatiently--in the garden.

Hugh Roughsedge had only just returned from a month's stay in London,
made necessary by those new Army examinations which his soul detested.
By dint of strenuous coaching he had come off moderately victorious, and
had now returned home for a week's extra leave before rejoining his
regiment. One of the first questions on his tongue, as his mother
instantly noticed, had been a question as to Miss Mallory. Was she still
at Beechcote? Had his mother seen anything of her?

Yes, she was still at Beechcote. Mrs. Roughsedge, however, had seen her
but seldom and slightly since her son's departure for London. If she had
made one or two observations from a distance, with respect to the young
lady, she withheld them. And like the discerning mother that she was, at
the very first opportunity she proposed a call at Beechcote.

On their way thither, this February afternoon, they talked in a
desultory way about some new War-Office reforms, which, as usual, the
entire Army believed to be merely intended--wilfully and
deliberately--for its destruction; about a recent gambling scandal in
the regiment, or the peculiarities of Hugh's commanding officer.
Meanwhile he held his peace on the subject of some letters he had
received that morning. There was to be an expedition in Nigeria.
Officers were wanted; and he had volunteered. The result of his
application was not yet known. He had no intention whatever of upsetting
his parents till it was known.

"I wonder how Miss Mallory liked Tallyn," said Mrs. Roughsedge, briskly.

She had already expressed the same wonder once or twice. But as neither
she nor her son had any materials for deciding the point the remark
hardly promoted conversation. She added to it another of more effect.

"The Miss Bertrams have already made up their minds that she is to marry
Oliver Marsham."

"The deuce!" cried the startled Roughsedge. "Beg your pardon, mother,
but how can those old cats possibly know?"

"They can't know," said Mrs. Roughsedge, placidly. "But as soon as you
get a young woman like that into the neighborhood, of course everybody
begins to speculate."

"They mumble any fresh person, like a dog with a bone," said Roughsedge,
indignantly.

They were passing across the broad village street. On either hand were
old timbered cottages, sun-mellowed and rain-beaten; a thatched roof
showing here and there; or a bit of mean new b