Maude went in, feeling that she could have taken care of herself, and listening to the off-hand explanations of the countess-dowager. "Kirton offended me," she said. "He and his wife are like two bears; and so I packed up my things and came away at once, and got here straight from Liverpool. And now you know." "And is Lady Kirton quite well again?" asked Maude, helplessly, knowing she could not turn her mother out. "She'd be well enough but for temper. She _was_ ill, though, when they telegraphed for me; her life for three days and nights hanging on a shred. I told that fool of a Kirton before he married her that she had no constitution. I suppose you and Hart were finely disappointed to find I was not in London when you got there." "Agreeably disappointed, I think," said Maude, languidly. "Indeed! It's civil of you to say so." "On account of the smallness of the house," added Maude, endeavouring to be polite. "We hardly knew how to manage in it ourselves." "You wrote me word to take it. As to me, I can accommodate myself to any space. Where there's plenty of room, I take plenty; where there's not, I can put up with a closet. I have made Mirrable give me my old rooms here: you of course take Hart's now." "I am very tired," said Maude. "I think I will have some tea, and go to bed." "Tea!" shrieked the dowager. "I have not yet had dinner. And it's waiting; that's more." "You can dine without me, mamma," she said, walking upstairs to the new rooms. The dowager stared, and followed her. There was an indescribable something in Maude's manner that she did not like; it spoke of incipient rebellion, of an influence that had been, but was now thrown off. If she lost caste once, with Maude, she knew that she lost it for ever. "You could surely take a little dinner, Maude. You must keep up your strength, you know." "Not any dinner, thank you. I shall be all right to-morrow, when I've slept off my fatigue." "Well, I know I should like mine," grumbled the countess-dowager, feeling her position in the house already altered from what it had been during her former sojourn, when she assumed full authority, and ordered things as she pleased, completely ignoring the new lord. "You can have it," said Maude. "They won't serve it until Hartledon arrives," was the aggrieved answer. "I suppose he's walking up from the station. He always had a queer habit of doing that." Maude lifted her eyes in slight surprise. Her solitary arrival was a matter of fact so established to herself, that it sounded strange for any one else to be in ignorance of it. "Lord Hartledon has not come down. He is remaining in London." The old dowager peered at Maude through her little eyes. "What's that for?" "Business, I believe." "Don't tell me an untruth, Maude. You have quarrelled." "We have not quarrelled. We are perfectly good friends." "And do you mean to tell me that he sent you down alone?" "He sent the servants with me."