Tony sat at her feet, one hand in hers. He stared straight before him into the fire. She had noticed during these last three days a delightful tenderness towards her. His attitude to her had always been charming, courteous, affectionate and yet companionable; but now he seemed to want to do everything that he could to show her that he loved her. And yet though she valued and treasured this it also frightened her. It was a little as though he were preparing for some departure, at any rate some change, that might hurt her. Well, they were going at the end of the week, only a few more days. He took her fingers and stroked them. His hand stopped at the wedding ring and he passed his thumb across it. “I say, mother,” he looked up in her face with a little laugh, “I suppose you’d say that you’d rather lose anything in the world than that.” “Yes, dear, it’s very precious;” but she sighed. “I suppose it is. It must be ripping having something that is just yours and nobody else’s, that you simply don’t share with anyone. It must be ripping having somebody that belongs to you and that you belong to; just you two.” “Yes, But that ring means more to me than that. It means you and Rupert as well as your father. It means all those hours when you screamed and kicked, and the day when you began to talk, and the first adventurous hours when you tried to cross the nursery floor. And yes, a thousand things besides.” “Dear old mater,” he said softly. “It’s been just ripping having you. You’ve always understood so splendidly. Some chaps’ mothers I’ve seen, and they don’t know their sons in the very least. They do all the things that are most likely to drive them wild, and they never seem to be able to give them a bit what they want.” “Yes, but it works both ways,” she answered. “A son’s got to try and understand his mother too. It’s no use their leaving it all to her, you know.” “No, of course not.” Then he turned his body round and looked her in the face. “But you do understand so splendidly. You always have understood. You see, you trust a fellow.” Then he added quickly, “You’re trusting me now, aren’t you?” “Yes,” she answered, looking at him steadily, “perfectly. Only, just these last few days, perhaps I’ve been a little tiny bit worried. You haven’t been looking happy, and then I’m always worried; it’s so seldom that you’re not all right.” “But you’d rather not know—what’s going on, I mean. It’s all right, perfectly right, and if it wasn’t—if it wasn’t right for you, I mean, as well as for me—I wouldn’t go on with it for a moment. Only it’s dreadfully important.” “Yes, dear, I know. And if Mr. Maradick knows about it——”