Fulvia took stand as a sister in the household. She had wondered a little, privately, whether after this long break he would greet her precisely as in their boy and girl days; but it seemed that the idea of a change had never occurred to him. "I am sure you are not well," repeated Nigel. "Mother has been so worried waiting for you." It was Anice who said this. Nobody but tactless Anice, not even the impulsive Daisy, would have said the words. Indignant fire shot from Fulvia's eyes; and Nigel stood looking down upon his mother's face, beautiful even when fixed and colourless, with an air grieved, and yet absent. He could not shake off the cloud which he had carried away from the Rectory. "I am sorry to have worried you," he said. "Pollard was quick, and I have been longer than I meant." "You found the train after all," Fulvia observed. "Yes, at the last moment." "How about meals? Have you had anything to eat?" "Yes, thanks; as much as I want." "You are sure?" his mother said in her low voice. She had scarcely spoken hitherto. "Quite." He drew a chair near to Mrs. Browning and sat down, holding still the hand which he had taken a second time. She was dearly beloved by all her children, and by none more than by Nigel; so dearly that they could scarcely see a fault in her. The exacting nature of her love for them, above all for her only son, did imply a fault somewhere, only they could not see it. If Nigel saw, he would not acknowledge the fact to others; and if Fulvia saw, she would not acknowledge it even to herself. At least, she had not done so hitherto. "It was mother!" they all said. And "mother" had ever been in that household the embodiment of all that was lovely and lovable. If something of delusion existed, the very delusion was beautiful. And if Mrs. Browning had her faults—as who has not?—she was the best of wives, the most devoted of mothers, the fairest and sweetest of women. Nobody could see her and not admire; nobody could know her and not love. There was a curious constraint upon them all this evening; not least upon Nigel, and this perplexed Fulvia. Mrs. Browning's look she understood well; too well! Had any one except Nigel been in question, Fulvia would have been the first to spring up in defence of the "madre's" sensitiveness. The grieved curve of those gentle lips made her very heart ache; and in her heart Fulvia counted that Nigel had done wrongly, for it was a household axiom, without an allowed exception, that nobody might ever do or say aught which should distress the beloved "madre." But how could she blame him just returned from a long year of absence?