His face brightened again and softened--then hardened singularly, all at once. She could not have believed that such features could change so quickly. "And my son says that your mother is here! My dear young lady--I'm very glad! I hope you mean to stay." The words were cordial. The tone was cold. Brook stared at his father, very much surprised to find that he knew anything of the Bowrings, for he himself had not mentioned them in his letters. But the porters, walking more slowly, had just brought his mother up to where the three stood, and waited, panting a little, and the chair swinging slightly from the shoulder-straps. "Dear old boy!" cried Lady Johnstone. "It is good to see you. No--don't kiss me, my dear--it's far too hot. Let me look at you." Sir Adam gravely introduced Clare. Lady Johnstone's fat face became stony as a red granite mummy case, and she bent her apoplectic neck stiffly. "Oh!" she ejaculated. "Very glad, I'm sure. Were you going for a walk?" she asked, turning to Brook, severely. "Yes, there was just time. I didn't know when to expect you. But if Miss Bowring doesn't mind, we'll give it up, and I'll install you. Your rooms are all ready." It was at once clear to Clare that Lady Johnstone had never heard the name of Bowring, and that she resented the idea of her son walking alone with any young girl. CHAPTER X Clare went directly to her mother's room. She had hardly spoken again during the few minutes while she had necessarily remained with the Johnstones, climbing the hill back to the hotel. At the door she had stood aside to let Lady Johnstone go in, Sir Adam had followed his wife, and Brook had lingered, doubtless hoping to exchange a few words more with Clare. But she was preoccupied, and had not vouchsafed him a glance. "They have come," she said, as she closed Mrs. Bowring's door behind her. Her mother was seated by the open window, her hands lying idly in her lap, her face turned away, as Clare entered. She started slightly, and looked round. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Already! Well--it had to come. Have you met?" Clare told her all that had happened. "And he said that he was glad?" asked Mrs. Bowring, with the ghost of a smile. "He said so--yes. His voice was cold. But when he first heard my name and asked about my father his face softened." "His face softened," repeated Mrs. Bowring to herself, just above a whisper, as the ghost of the smile flitted about her pale lips. "He seemed glad at first, and then he looked displeased. Is that it?" she asked, raising her voice again. "That was what I thought," answered Clare. "Why don't you have luncheon in your room, mother?" she asked suddenly. "He would think I was afraid to meet him," said the elder woman. A long silence followed, and Clare sat down on a stiff straw chair, looking out of the window. At last she turned to her mother again.