“I don’t know about her being charmed and flattered,” said Jack. “But certainly she was very kind about it, considering what a liberty I had taken.” “Rather what a compliment you had paid her,” exclaimed Mrs. Vernon, effusively. “What a sweet girl she is! So simple and kindly. You are staying there, are you not?” “Yes, for the Sunday,” said Jack, with all his teeth on edge. “I knew Arthur well at Oxford.” “And did Miss Avesham talk to you about the portrait?” continued Mrs. Vernon. “I am told she is so artistic.” “Oh, yes, she spoke about it,” said Jack. “Indeed, it was a curious coincidence, for just as I arrived she was out in the garden, and again the puppy was shaking himself, having fallen into the fountain.” Mrs. Vernon gave a titter of laughter, like a chromatic scale. “There seems to be a fate in such things,” she exclaimed. “How exciting, and how romantic! Thank you, _one_ more cup of this delicious tea.” Before long the others left, and shortly after Canon Collingwood retired to the garden. Jack and his mother spoke of indifferent things till the tea-table was cleared; and after the servant had gone: “I wanted to talk to you, Jack, before you went. You received my letter?” “Yes, this morning. I tore it up, as you asked me to, without reading it.” Mrs. Collingwood was silent a moment. “Thank you,” she said at length, simply. “My reason was this--I wrote hastily. I could not but think that Miss Avesham would consider your painting of that portrait as a great liberty. It appears she did not, and that you are excellent friends. So I was wrong about her attitude.” Mrs. Collingwood took a chair closer to Jack. “Jack, you were right in what you said yesterday,” she went on. “You and I are made very differently. We must accept it. I have been too much given to judging you, to disapproving, and disapproval does no good. But you must not judge me either. You have your own life to live. You can not grasp my point of view, and if I am tempted to disapprove of you, I will be careful in the future not to do that, but to simply say that I do not understand.” Jack looked up; his mother’s voice was trembling. “Ah, my dear,” she went on, “in the Father’s house are many mansions, and it is likely there are many mansions of His on earth. And if the windows of some look out on to beautiful things and others on to austere surroundings, suffering perhaps, and sin, those in the different chambers must not judge each other. That is what I wanted to say to you. But I have to go on in my own way. We can only do what we think right. There, that is all. But tell me, what do you intend to do about this baby?” “I shall have it to live with me, I think,” said Jack; “that is, unless something else turns up. Mother, you don’t know how you have touched me, and how glad you have made me that you have spoken, and how ashamed.”