t think about it at all. I have had very different
things to occupy me," said George, coldly superior to all mothers and
Parliaments. "This is the church."

The cab stopped before an iron door between two shops in the most
thronged part of Bishopsgate Street. He pushed it open, and they
passed suddenly out of the hurrying crowd into the solemn silence of an
ancient dingy building. A dim light fell through a noble window of the
thirteenth century upon cheap wooden pews. The church was empty, and
had that curious significance and half-spoken message of its own which
belongs to a vacant house.

"I remember," whispered Frances, awestruck. "This was built by the
first Christian convert, St. Ethelburga."

"You believe every thing, mother!" said George irritably. She wandered
about, looking at the sombre walls and inscriptions, and then back
uneasily, to his moody face.

Suddenly she came up to him as he stood leaning against a pillar.
"Something has happened!" she said. "You did not bring me here to look
at the church. You have something to tell me."

The young man looked at her and turned away. "Yes, I have. It isn't a
death," he said, with a nervous laugh. "You need not look in that way.
It is--something very different. I--I was married in this church
yesterday to Lisa Arpent."

Frances did not at first comprehend the great disaster that bulked
black across her whole life, but, woman-like, grasped at a fragment of
it.

"You were married and I was not there! Yesterday! My boy was married
and he forgot me!"

"Mother! Don't look like that! Here, sit down," grabbing her
helplessly by the arms. "I didn't want to hurt you. I brought you
here to tell you quietly. Cry! Why don't you cry if you're worried!
Oh! I believe she's dying!" he shouted, staring around the empty church.

She spoke at last.

"You were married and I couldn't say God bless you! You forgot me! I
never forgot you, George, for one minute since you were born."

"Mother, what fool talk is that? I only didn't want a scene. I kept
away from Lisa for weeks so as not to vex you. Forget you! I think I
have been very considerate of you under the circumstances. You have a
dislike to Lisa, a most groundless dislike----"

"Oh, what is Lisa?" said Frances haughtily. "It is that you have
turned away from me. She has nothing to do with the relation between
you and me. How can any woman come between me and my son?" She held
up her