She put the question a trifle timidly, as though she were asking me to do something from which she herself would rather be excused. The fact is, we had found that Miss Riddle would talk of everything and anything, with the one exception of her mother. Speak of Mrs. Riddle, and the young lady either immediately changed the conversation, or she held her peace. Within my hearing, her mother's name had never escaped her lips. Whether consciously or unconsciously, she had conveyed to our minds a very clear impression that, to put it mildly, between her and her mother there was no love lost. I, myself, was persuaded that, to her, the news of her mother's imminent presence would not be pleasant news. It seemed that my aunt was of the same opinion. "Dear May ought to be told, she ought not to be taken unawares. You will find her in the morning-room, I think." I rather fancy that Aunt and Uncle Plaskett have a tendency to shift the little disagreeables of life off their own shoulders on to other people's. Anyhow, before I could point out to her that the part which she suggested I should play was one which belonged more properly to her, Aunt Plaskett had taken advantage of my momentary hesitation to effect a strategic movement which removed her out of my sight. I found Miss Riddle in the morning-room. She was lying on a couch, reading. Directly I entered she saw that I had something on my mind. "What's the matter? You don't look happy." "It may seem selfishness on my part, but I'm not quite happy. I have just heard news which, if you will excuse my saying so, has rather given me a facer." "If I will excuse you saying so! Dear me, how ceremonious we are! Is the news public, or private property?" "Who do you think is coming?" "Coming? Where? Here?" I nodded. "I have not the most remote idea. How should I have?" "It is some one who has something to do with you." Until then she had taken it uncommonly easily on the couch. When I said that, she sat up with quite a start. "Something to do with me? Mr. Kempster! What do you mean? Who can possibly be coming here who has anything to do with me?" "May, can't you guess?" "Guess! How can I guess? What do you mean?" "It's your mother." "My--mother!" I had expected that the thing would be rather a blow to her, but I had never expected that it would be anything like the blow it seemed. She sprang to her feet. The book fell from her hands, unnoticed, on to the floor. She stood facing me, with clenched fists and staring eyes. "My--mother!" she repeated, "Mr. Kempster, tell me what you mean."