“You are more observant than I am, Raie,” she rejoined. “I have noticed nothing; perhaps I did not wish to notice—this.” She leant back in her chair, her hands interlocked. For some unaccountable reason she had not thought that her boy would go the usual way of youth, and entangle himself in a love-affair; he had always seemed much too serious and reserved for anything of the kind. Of course, she wanted him to marry some day—a girl of his own faith whom she would choose. To allow himself to fall in love with Lady Patricia Byrne was the height of folly, and could only bring trouble on all concerned. “I hope you are mistaken, Raie,” she added, at last. “I don’t think my son would do anything to give me pain.” Fond mother who, because she has made an idol of her son, thinks he is totally devoid of the human passions which have agitated the breast of youth ever since the world began. Raie marvelled that a man should be so little understood by his nearest and dearest, but she said nothing; and at that moment the subject of their conversation himself appeared. He came in with a number of newspapers in his hand, and having kissed his mother and inquired how Raie had fasted, informed them of the important news. He looked tired and worn; and Raie, to whom the death of premiers was as nothing compared with nearer and more practical matters, immediately hurried off to see if his breakfast were fully prepared. She returned a few minutes later, and insisted on his going to the dining-room forthwith. She would listen to nothing he had to say until he had satisfied the demands of the inner man. She captured the papers, however, and read the accounts for herself. “Only forty-four years of age,” she remarked, as she put the last one down. “Well, I suppose he will have a state funeral; it will be worth seeing. Do you think you can get us tickets of admission, Lal?” “Raie!” exclaimed Lady Montella, in a tone of reproof. “Is that the first thing you think of—not the serious consequence of the Premier’s death upon the nation, but only the excitement of watching his funeral procession?” Lionel glanced at his foster-cousin with indulgence. “Never mind,” he said kindly. “Let Raie leave state affairs to people who are forced to consider them. Time enough to be serious when the necessity occurs.” “That’s what I think,” the girl rejoined, with a smile. “Auntie takes things much too seriously. By-the-bye, Lionel, will Lady Chesterwood have to put off her masked ball?” “Unless she is personally related to poor Campbell, no. When is it going to be?” “On Thursday week. I’ve been looking forward to it for months; it will be my first real ball, you know. Auntie has given me the loveliest dress you can imagine; it’s a perfect dream.” “Not a nightmare, I hope,” he returned, and then drew back his chair. “Well, I must away to Downing Street, I suppose.” He sighed. “I wish I could look a year or so ahead.”