the door.

"I can't stop now," he said; "I'll come again this evening."

Mrs. Pendyce looked up.

"Oh, George"

But as she had the habit of subordinating her feelings to the feelings
of others, she said no more, but tried to smile.

That smile smote George to the heart.

"Don't worry, Mother; try and cheer up. We'll go to the theatre. You get
the tickets!"

And trying to smile too, but turning lest he should lose his
self-control, he went away.

In the hall he came on his uncle, General Pendyce. He came on him from
behind, but knew him at once by that look of feeble activity about the
back of his knees, by his sloping yet upright shoulders, and the sound
of his voice, with its dry and querulous precision, as of a man whose
occupation has been taken from him.

The General turned round.

"Ah, George," he said, "your mother's here, isn't she? Look at this that
your father's sent me!"

He held out a telegram in a shaky hand.

"Margery up at Green's Hotel. Go and see her at once.

"HORACE."

And while George read the General looked at his nephew with eyes that
were ringed by little circles of darker pigment, and had crow's-footed
purses of skin beneath, earned by serving his country in tropical
climes.

"What's the meaning of it?" he said. "Go and see her? Of course, I'll go
and see her! Always glad to see your mother. But where's all the hurry?"

George perceived well enough that his father's pride would not let him
write to her, and though it was for himself that his mother had taken
this step, he sympathised with his father. The General fortunately gave
him little time to answer.

"She's up to get herself some dresses, I suppose? I've seen nothing of
you for a long time. When are you coming to dine with me? I heard at
Epsom that you'd sold your horse. What made you do that? What's your
father telegraphing to me like this for? It's not like him. Your
mother's not ill, is she?"

George shook his head, and muttering something about "Sorry, an
engagement--awful hurry," was gone.

Left thus abruptly to himself, General Pendyce summoned a page, slowly
pencilled something on his card, and with his back to the only persons
in the hall, waited, his hands folded on the handle of his cane. And
while he waited he tried as far as possible to think of nothing. Having
served his country, his time now was nearly all devoted to waiting,
and to think fatigued and made him feel discontented, for he had had
sun