It was so exceedingly strange to see the mother and daughter, unconscious objects of experiments of epoch-marking importance, quietly appearing at the door of a London hotel under ordinary conditions open to any of the well-dressed, unheeding crowd within or the hurrying multitude without. They passed through the revolving doors, and looked about them. Karl stepped forward, somewhat shyly, though there was an instant charm in his smiling disingenuousness. You see, he fancied he had to introduce himself, being now a tall man in place of the little boy Mrs. Hutchinson had last seen, and whom Maggie must wholly fail to remember. So far as mama was concerned, be sure she could not distinguish Grier, at first glance, from any other man present. But Maggie saw him instantly. She became very pale, and her eyes, extremely pretty eyes they were (and are), dilated. “Oh, mother!” she cried aloud. “There he is!” So curiously perturbed was she, so timid and childlike in her words and attitude, that Grier’s conventional welcome died away in his throat. Yet he held out his hand, and the girl, stepping forward impulsively, caught it in both of hers. But her eyes filled with tears, and the corners of her mouth quivered, and not another word could she utter. The scene was unexpected, embarrassing, and, of course, dreadfully un-English. And what did it all signify? CHAPTER X MAGGIE TELLS WHAT BEFEL HER I think I came to the rescue, but I was so flurried, so completely driven out of myself, that ordered recollection begins only in the middle of the blather which usually serves as conversational counters at such meetings. I made myself known to Mrs. Hutchinson, and she, worthy soul, much perplexed by certain mysterious incidents soon to be made clear (after a fashion), extricated us from a difficult situation by the true motherliness of her surprise and admiration at finding Karl grown to be a bigger man than his father. She was a Scotswoman, and she delighted in proclaiming the fact. Thus, although a lady of good birth and refined manners, she did not disdain to use the homely phrases of “her ain people” when they expressed her thoughts better than the polished slang which passes current for English in society nowadays. “Eh, but it’s a cure for sair e’en to see you, honey,” she cried, when she had assured herself that this six-footer was really the young Grier whom she had heard so much about of late. (This cryptic remark will explain itself presently.) “I was sure my letter to your mother would bring you quickly to us if you were not abroad. Did she telegraph to you? I suppose she could not have written in the time. And how kind it is of you to hurry up to London in time to receive us! Did you say you came from Oxford? Well, from what I have heard of young gentlemen at the ’Varsity, they seldom object to an urgent call that brings them to London.”