Not very long after Miner had gone, another hand opened the door, and John sprang to his feet, for even in the slight sound he recognized the touch. Mrs. Ralston entered the room. With more impulsiveness than was usual in him he went quickly to meet her, and threw his arms round her, kissing her through her veil, damp and cold from the snowy air. “Mother, darling--how good you are!” he exclaimed softly. “There isn’t anybody like you--really.” “Why--Jack? What is it?” asked Mrs. Ralston, happy, but not understanding. “Miner was here--he told me about your having been to old Routh to make him write--” “That? Oh--that’s nothing. Of course I went--the first thing. Didn’t he say last night that he’d give his evidence in a court of law? I thought he might just as well do it. The business is all settled, dear boy. I’ve seen the lawyer, and he’s making out the deed. He’ll bring it here for me to sign when he comes up from his office, and the transfers of the titles will be registered to-morrow morning--just in time before Sunday.” “Don’t talk about that, mother!” answered John. “I didn’t want you to do it, and it’s never going to make the slightest difference between us.” “Well--perhaps not. But it makes all the difference to me. Promise me one thing, Jack.” “Yes, mother--anything you like.” “Promise me to remember that if you and Katharine choose to get married, in spite of her father and all the Lauderdales, this is your house, and that you have a right to it. You won’t have much to live on, but you won’t starve. Promise me to remember that, Jack. Will you?” “I’ll promise to remember it, mother. But I’ll not promise to act on it.” “Well--that’s a matter for your judgment. Go and get ready for luncheon. It must be time.” Once more John put his arms round her neck, and drew her close to him. “You’re very good to me, mother--thank you!” CHAPTER XXIX. Katharine spent more time than necessary over dressing for dinner on that evening, not because she bestowed more attention than usual upon her appearance, but because there were long pauses of which she was scarcely conscious, although the maid reminded her from time to time that it was growing late. The result, however, was satisfactory in the opinion of her assistant, a sober-minded Scotch person of severe tastes, who preferred black and white to any colours whatsoever, and thought that the trees showed decided frivolity in being green, and that the woods in autumn were positively improper.