and looked at him. She must see for herself whether he
was well, and if this riotous life she feared he had been leading lately
had not too greatly told upon him. Her fond eyes detected an air of
weariness: he looked haggard, and not so full of spirits as he usually
was. Alas! if he would only stay in England!

"I am rather tired, mother; I may look in at the opera, but I can't face
a ball. How is Anne, and what is she doing to-night?" he said.

"Anne has a bad cold. We have had such weather--nothing but rain since
Sunday night! She is dining at home and going to bed early. I have just
had a telephone message from her; she is longing to see you, too."

"I think I shall go round and dine with her then," said Hector, "and
join you later."

They talked on for about ten minutes before he left her to dress,
running against Streatfield in the passage. She had known him since his
birth, and beamed with joy at his return.

He chaffed her about growing fat, and went on his way to telephone to
his sister.

"His lordship looks pale, my lady," said the demure woman, as she
fastened Lady Bracondale's bracelet. She, too, disapproved of Paris and
bachelorhood, but she did not love Morella Winmarleigh.

"Oh, you think so, Streatfield?" Lady Bracondale exclaimed, in a worried
voice. "Now that we have got him back we must take great care of him.
His lordship will join me at the opera. Are you sure he likes those
aigrettes in my hair?"

"Why, it's one of his lordship's favorite styles, my lady. You need have
no fears," said the maid.

And thus comforted, Lady Bracondale descended the great staircase to her
carriage.

She was still a beautiful woman, though well past fifty. Her splendid,
dark hair had hardly a thread of gray in it, and grew luxuriantly, but
she insisted upon wearing it simply parted in the middle and coiled in a
mass of plaits behind, while one braid stood up coronet fashion well at
the back of her head. She was addicted to rich satins and velvets, and
had a general air of Victorian repose and decorum. There was no attempt
to retain departed youth; no golden wigs or red and white paint
disfigured her person, which had an immense natural dignity and
stateliness. It made her shiver to see some of her contemporaries
dressed and arranged to represent not more than twenty years of age. But
so many modern ways of thought and life jarred upon her!

"Mother is still in the early seventies; she has never advanced a st