By midnight the festivities were at their height. He himself was boisterous with wine and excitement. He had stood up at the head of his table and made a blatant speech and roared a loud song, and had been laughed at and applauded. "Make the most on it," he kept saying. "It'll be over by cock-crow. It's a bit like a chap's funeral." He had just seated himself after this, and was pouring out a great glass of wine, when a servant entered the room and spoke to him in a low tone. "A lady, sir, as come in a cab, and----" And then the door opened again, and every one turned to look at the woman who stood upon the threshold. She was a small woman, dressed in plain country fashion; she had white hair, and a fresh bloom on her cheeks, and her eyes were bright with timorous excitement and joy. "Jem," she faltered, "it's me, my dear." Haworth stared at her as if stunned. At first his brain was not clear enough to take in the meaning of her presence, but as she approached him and laid her basket down and took his hand, the truth revealed itself to him. "It's me, my dear," she repeated, "accordin' to promise I didn't know you had comp'ny." She turned to those who sat about the table and made a little rustic courtesy. A dead calm seemed to take possession of one and all. They did not glance at each other, but looked at her as she stood by Haworth, holding his hand, waiting for him to kiss her. "He's so took by surprise," she said, "he doesn't know what to say. He wasn't expecting me so soon," laughing proudly. "That's it. I'm his mother, ladies and gentlemen." Haworth made a sign to the servant who waited. "Bring a plate here," he said. "She'll sit down with us." The order was obeyed, and she sat down at his right hand, fluttered and beaming. "You're very good not to mind me," she said. "I didn't think of there bein' comp'ny--and gentry, too." She turned to a brightly dressed girl at her side and spoke to her. "He's my only son, Miss, and me a widder, an' he's allers been just what you see him now. He was good from the time he was a infant. He's been a pride an' a comfort to me since the day he were born." The girl stared at her with a look which was almost a look of fear. She answered her in a hushed voice. "Yes, ma'am," she said. "Yes, Miss," happily. "There's not many mothers as can say what I can. He's never been ashamed of me, hasn't Jem. If I'd been a lady born, he couldn't have showed me more respect than he has, nor been more kinder." The girl did not answer this time. She looked down at her plate, and her hand trembled as she pretended to occupy herself with the fruit upon it. Then she stole a glance at the rest,--a glance at once guilty, and defiant of the smile she expected to see. But the smile was not there. The only smile to be seen was upon the face of the little country woman who regarded them all with innocent reverence, and was in such bright good spirits that she did not even notice their silence.