"It will be a great expense," he said, with a face as long as his arm. "Do you think, mother, it is really worth the while?" "Everything is worth the while, Philip, that will put you in your proper place." "What is my proper place, if I am not in it already without that? There is no more need for a ball to-day than there was a year ago." "Then the less I lee, when I say it's needed now," said Mrs. Stormont, who loved a proverb. "Being wanted a year ago, as you confess, it is indispensable by this time. I am going to begin with Murkley; they are our nearest neighbours, and the oldest family in the county. If Margaret will but bring Lilias, that of itself will be worth all the cost. The prettiest girl in the whole neighbourhood, and so much romance about her. I would dearly like if she took her first step in the world in this house, Phil. It was here she first learned to walk alone, poor bit motherless thing; and her first step was into your arms." Philip laughed, but the suggestion was confusing. "I hope you don't intend that performance to be repeated now," he said. "I would have no objection for my part," said his mother. "You might go farther and fare worse--both of you. Murkley marches with your lands, and if anything of the kind should come to pass----" "I wish, mother, you would give up calculations of that sort." "I never began them," said Mrs. Stormont, promptly. "I say you may go farther and fare worse. You can drive me to Murkley, if ye please, in the afternoon, and pay your respects to the ladies." "Can't Sandy drive you, as usual?" said her son, with a lowering brow. "Oh, for that matter, I'm very independent. I can drive myself," said Mrs. Stormont, who went on the safe principle of making her own arrangements. She lamented a little over Philip's churlishness when he left the room, reminding herself how different it had been when he was a boy, with a maternal complaint which is too common to require repetition. But she was too wise a woman to be tragical on this subject. A mother, even when she has but one child, must harden herself in such matters. She rang for Sandy, and ordered her little carriage without any sentimentality. "Will I clean myself, and go with ye, ma'am," asked Sandy, "or will Mr. Philip?" "We must not depend upon Mr. Philip," said Mrs. Stormont, with a smile. "Gentlemen have so many occupations. You will just be ready at three o'clock, in case I want you." And at three o'clock, accordingly, the sturdy old pony felt in his imagination the flashing of Sandy's whip, and set off at a steady pace down the hill towards Murkley. They crossed in the big ferry-boat, to which they were all accustomed, and which the pony regarded as an every-day matter. Understanding all about the boat, probably he would have felt a bridge to be something more alarming. The day was fine, the river shining in the sun, the trees in their deepest summer wealth of shade.