A silence followed--rather a long silence. Julian lay back in his chair, and smoked in luxurious contentment. Mrs. Romayne sat with her dainty head, with its elaborate arrangement of red-brown hair, resting against a cushion, her face half hidden by the shade thrown by the fire-screen as she held it up in one slender, ringed hand. She seemed to be looking straight into the fire; as a matter of fact her eyes were fixed on the boyish face beside her. She was the first to break silence. “It is two, nearly three, months since we were together,” she said. The words might have been the merest comment in themselves; but there was something in the bright tone in which they were spoken, something--half suggestion, half invitation--which implied a desire to make them the opening of a conversation. Julian Romayne’s perceptions, however, were by no means of the acutest, and he detected no undertone. “So it is!” he assented, with dreamy cheerfulness. “How long did you spend in Cairo?” The question, which came after a pause, was evidently another attempt on a new line. Again it failed. “Didn’t I tell you? Ten days!” said Julian lazily. Mrs. Romayne changed her position. She leant forward, her elbow on her knee, her cheek resting on her hand, the screen still shading her face. “The catechism is going to begin,” she said gaily. Julian’s cigar was finished. He roused himself, and dropped the end into the ash-tray by his side as he said with a smile: “What catechism?” “Your catechism, sir,” returned his mother. “Do you suppose I am going to let you off without insisting on a full and particular account of all your doings during the last ten weeks?” “A full and particular account of all my doings!” he said. “I say, that sounds formidable, doesn’t it? The only thing is, you’ve had it in my letters.” “The fullest and most particular?” she laughed. “The fullest and most particular!” “Never mind,” she exclaimed, leaning back in her chair again with a restless movement, “I shall catechise all the same. My curiosity knows no limits, you see. Now, you are on your honour as a--as a spoilt boy, understand.” “On my honour as a spoilt boy! All right. Fire away, mum!” He pulled himself up, folding his hands with an assumption of “good little boy” demeanour, and laughing into her face. She also drew herself up, and laughed back at him. “Question one: Have you lost your heart to any pretty girl in the past ten weeks?” “No, mum.” “Question two: Have you flirted--much--with any girl, pretty or plain?” “No, mum.” “Have you overdrawn your allowance?” “No, mum. I’ve got such a jolly generous mother, mum!” “Have you---- Oh! Have you any secrets from your mother?” The question broke from her in a kind of cry, but she turned it before it was finished into burlesque, and Julian burst into a shout of laughter. “Not a solitary secret! There, will that do?”