And then, suddenly remembering that the most eager desire of his heart at this very moment was to substitute a foolish young wife for this wise and experienced housekeeper, Edgar Turchill became suddenly as vermilion as the most vivid cock’s-comb in his mother’s poultry-yard. He felt that the revelation he had to make must be blurted out somehow. There was no use in prancing before the fire, making such a serious business of warming his hands. ‘I’ve been over to South Hill this morning, mother,’ he said at last, rather jerkily. ‘Have you?’ said Mrs. Turchill curtly. ‘It seems to me you never go anywhere else.’ ‘Well, I’m afraid that’s a true bill,’ he answered, laughing with affected heartiness, very much as the timorous traveller whistles in a lonely wood. ‘I love the place, and the people who live in it. South Hill has been my second home ever since I was a little bit of a chap at Rugby. But this morning I have been there on very particular business. I have been having a serious talk with Sir Vernon. I wonder if you could guess the subject of our conversation, mother, and spare my blushes in telling it?’ It was Mrs. Turchill’s turn to assume the cock’s-comb’s flaming hue. ‘If you have done anything to blush for, Edgar, I am sorry for you,’ she observed sternly. ‘Your father was one of the most respectable men in Warwickshire, and the most looked up to, or my father would not have allowed me to marry him.’ ‘You are taking me a trifle too literally, mother,’ answered Edgar, laughing uneasily. ‘I hope there is nothing disreputable in a man of my age falling in love and wanting to be married. That’s the only crime I have to confess this morning. Yesterday afternoon I asked Daphne to be my wife, and she consented; and this morning I settled it all with Sir Vernon. We are to be married on the same day as Goring and Madoline—at least, Sir Vernon said something to that effect.’ ‘Indeed!’ exclaimed Mrs. Turchill freezingly. ‘Indeed! And now Miss Daphne has consented and Sir Vernon has consented, and the very wedding-day is fixed, you do me the honour to inform me. I thank you from my heart, Edgar, for the respect and affection, the consideration and regard, you have shown for me in this matter. I am not likely to forget your conduct.’ ‘Dearest mother,’ gasped Edgar affrightedly, for the icy indignation of his parent’s speech and manner went beyond the worst he had feared, ‘surely you are not offended—surely——’