"You are always in a hurry, Jekyl, to leave me when you chance to come here. I should be sorry, however, to interfere with the pleasanter disposition of your time." "Now, little mother, you mustn't be huffed with me. I have a hundred and fifty things to look after at Marlowe when I get there. I have not had a great deal of time, you know--first the session, then three months knocking about the world." "You never wrote to me since you left Paris," said the old lady, grimly. "Didn't I? That was very wrong! But you knew those were my holidays, and I detest writing, and you knew I could take care of myself; and it is so much better to tell one's adventures than to put them into letters, don't you think?" "If one could tell them all in five minutes," replied the old lady, drily. "Well, but you'll come over to Marlowe--you really must--and I'll tell you everything there--the truth, the whole truth, and as much more as you like." This invitation was repeated every year, but like Don Juan's to the statue, was not expected to lead to a literal visit. "You have haunted rooms there, Jekyl," she said, with an unpleasant smile and a nod. "You have not kept house in Marlowe for ten years, I think. Why do you go there now?" "Caprice, whim, what you will," said the Baronet, combing out his favourite whisker with the tips of his fingers, while he smiled on himself in the glass upon the chimneypiece, "I wish _you'd_ tell me, for _I_ really don't know, except that I'm tired of Warton and Dartbroke, as I am of all monotony. I like change, you know." "Yes; you _like change_," said the old lady, with a dignified sarcasm. "I'm afraid it's a true bill," admitted Sir Jekyl, with a chuckle, "So you'll come to Marlowe and see us there--won't you?" "No, Jekyl--certainly _not_," said the old lady, with intense emphasis. A little pause ensued, during which the Baronet twiddled at his whisker, and continued to smile amusedly at himself in the glass. "I wonder you could think of asking me to Marlowe, considering all that has happened there. I sometimes wonder at myself that I can endure to see you at all, Jekyl Marlowe; and I don't think, if it were not for that dear girl, who is so like her sainted mother, I should ever set eyes on you again." "I'm glad we have that link. You make me love Beatrix better," he replied. He was now arranging the elaborate breast-pin with its tiny chain, which was at that date in vogue. "And so you are going to keep house at Marlowe?" resumed the lady, stiffly, not heeding the sentiment of his little speech. "Well, so I purpose." "I don't like that house," said the old lady, with a subdued fierceness. "Sorry it does not please you, little mother," replied Sir Jekyl. "You know I don't like it," she repeated. "In that case you need not have told me," he said. "I choose to tell you. I'll say so as often as I see you--as often as I like."