"My son--last night?" said the Rector, quickly. "Which son?" "Mr Cyril; he drank four glasses of it, and praised it most highly." She poured out a glass, and the Rector drew it to him, and sat gazing at the clear, amber liquid, hesitating as to how he should begin, while Mrs Portlock stole a glance at the mirror to see if her cap was straight, and wished she had known of her visitor's coming, so that she might have put on a silk dress, and the cap with the maroon ribbons and the gold acorn. "Cyril said that he was down the town last night with Frank," said the Rector to himself. "He fears my words, and he is playing false, or he would not have been ashamed to answer that he was here." "How the time seems to fly, Mrs Portlock!" said the Rector at last, biting his lip with annoyance at the want of originality of the only idea he could set forth. "Dear me, yes. I was saying so only last week to Mr Cyril. `Four months,' I said, `since you came back;' and he looked up at Sage and said that the time seemed to go like lightning." "By the way, Mrs Portlock," said the Rector, hastily, "have you heard from Luke Ross lately?" "Oh, dear me, no," said the lady, rather sharply. "I never call at the Ross's now." "I thought, perhaps, the young people might correspond." "Oh, dear me, no; neither Mr Portlock nor myself could countenance such a thing as that." The Rector was at a loss to see the impropriety of such an intercourse, but he said nothing--he merely bowed. "That was only a boy-and-girl sort of thing. Our Sage knew Luke Ross from a boy, but now they are grown up, and as Joseph--Mr Portlock--said they were too young to think about such things as that." "But I understood that they were engaged," said the Rector, who felt startled; and he gazed very anxiously in Mrs Portlock's face for her reply. "Oh, dear me, no, sir, nothing of the kind." For want of something to say, the Rector sipped his wine. "My husband very properly said that under the circumstances no engagement ought to take place, and it was not likely. For my part I don't agree with the affair at all." The Rector felt that his position was growing more unpleasant than ever. He had come to say something, but that something would not be said; and at last when he did speak his words were very different from what he had intended they should be. "My son, Cyril, has taken to coming here a good deal lately, Mrs Portlock," he said. "Well, yes, sir," she said, with a satisfied smile; "he has." "I am sorry to have to speak so plainly about him, Mrs Portlock, but I hope you will not encourage his visits. Cyril has travelled a good deal, and has imbibed, I am afraid, a great deal of careless freedom." "Indeed?" said the lady, stiffly. "I'm afraid that he is too ready to laugh and chat with any girl he meets, and I should be sorry if--er--if--"