she came back with her packages and got into the buggy, she said,
quietly, "Tell me, Henry."

"He has simply done what I put him in the way of doing when I gave him a
letter of introduction to that Mrs. Newbolt, in Mercer."

"Newbolt? I don't remember--"

"Yes, you do. Pop eyes. Fat. Talked every minute, and everything she
said a _nonsequitur_. I used to wonder why her husband didn't choke her.
He was on our board. Died the year we came up here. Talked to death,
probably."

"Oh yes. I remember her. Well?"

"I thought she might make things pleasant for Maurice while he was
cramming. He doesn't know a soul in Mercer, and Bradley's game leg
wouldn't help out with sociability. So I gave him letters to two or
three people. Mrs. Newbolt was one of them. I hated her, because she
dropped her g's; but she had good food, and I thought she'd ask him
to dinner once in a while."

"Well?"

"_She did._ And he's married her niece."

"What! Without your consent! I'm shocked that Mrs. Newbolt permitted--"

"Probably her permission wasn't asked, any more than mine."

"You mean an elopement? How outrageous in Maurice!" Mrs. Houghton said.

Her husband agreed. "Abominable! Mary, do you mind if I smoke?"

"Very much; but you'll do it all the same. I suppose the girl's a mere
child?" Then she quailed. "Henry!--she's respectable, isn't she? I
couldn't bear it, if--if she was some--dreadful person."

He sheltered a sputtering match in his curving hand and lighted a cigar;
then he said, "Oh, I suppose she's respectable enough; but she's
certainly 'dreadful.' He says she's a music teacher. Probably caught him
that way. Music would lead Maurice by the nose. Confound that boy! And
his father trusted me." His face twitched with distress. "As for being a
'mere child,'--there; read his letter."

She took it, fumbling about for her spectacles; halfway through, she
gave an exclamation of dismay. "'A few years older'?--she must be
_twenty_ years older!"

"Good heavens, Mary!"

"Well, perhaps not quite twenty, but--"

Henry Houghton groaned. "I'll tell Bradley my opinion of him as a
coach."

"My dear, Mr. Bradley couldn't have prevented it.... Yes; I remember her
perfectly. She came to tea with Mrs. Newbolt several times. Rather a
temperamental person, I thought."

"'Temperamental'? May the Lord have mercy on him!" he said. "Yes, it
comes back to me. Dark eyes? Looked like one of Rossetti's women?"

"Yes. Handsome, but a little