She was angry with this beloved and only son for not having seen the change in his mother's appearance--for talking so loudly and so lightly, as if there were nothing to be thought of in life except his own pleasure. "What, old lady, are you under the weather?" he asked, turning to survey his mother with a critical air. This was his American manner of inquiring after her health. Mrs. Tregonell, when the meaning of the phrase had been explained to her, confessed herself an invalid, for whom the placid monotony of rural life was much safer than the dissipation of a London season. "Oh, very well," said Leonard with a shrug; "then you and Belle must stop at home and take care of each other--and I can have six weeks in London _en garçon_. It won't be worth while to open the house in Bolton Row--I'd rather stop at an hotel." "But you won't leave me directly after your return, Leonard?" "No, no, of course not. Not till after Easter. Easter's three weeks ahead of us. You'll be tired enough of me by that time." "Tired of you! After three years' absence?" "Well, you must have got accustomed to doing without me, don't you know," said Leonard, with charming frankness. "When a man has been three years away he can't hurt his friend's feelings much if he dies abroad. They've learnt how easy it is to get along without him." "Leonard! how can you say such cruel things?" expostulated his mother, with tears in her eyes. The very mention of death, as among the possibilities of existence, scared her. "There's nothing cruel in it, ma'am; it's only common sense," answered Leonard. "Three years. Well, it's a jolly long time, isn't it? and I dare say to you, in this sleepy hollow of a place, it seemed precious long. But for fellows who are knocking about the world--as Poker Vandeleur and I were--time spins by pretty fast, I can tell you. I'll hoist in some more sap--another cup of tea, if you please, Miss Bridgeman," added Leonard, handing in his empty cup. "It's uncommonly good stuff. Oh! here's old Randie--come here, Randie." Randie, clutched unceremoniously by the tail, and drawn over the hearthrug, like any inanimate chattel, remonstrated with a growl and a snap. He had never been over-fond of the master of Mount Royal, and absence had not made his heart grow fonder. "His temper hasn't improved," muttered Leonard, pushing the dog away with his foot. "His temper is always lovely when he's kindly treated," said Christabel, making room for the dog in her low armchair, whereupon Randie insinuated himself into that soft silken nest, and looked fondly up at his mistress with his honest brown eyes. "You should let me give you a Pomeranian instead of that ungainly beast," said Leonard. "No, thanks. Never any other dog while Randie lives. Randie is a person, and he and I have a hundred ideas in common. I don't want a toy dog--a dog that is only meant for show."