Victor Carrington glanced at his mother almost angrily, and for an instant felt the impulse rise within him which prompted him to tell her that it was not only by the employment of means so tame and common-place that he designed to realize the cherished vision of his ambition. But he checked it instantly, and only said, with the reverential inflection which his voice never failed to take when he addressed his mother, "What, then, would you advise me to try, in addition?" "Marry a rich woman, my Victor; marry one of these moneyed English girls, who are, for the most part, permitted to follow their inclinations--inclinations which would surely, if encouraged, lead many of them your way." Mrs. Carrington spoke in the calmest tone possible. "Marry--I marry?" said Victor, in a tone of surprise, in which a quick ear would have noticed something also of disappointment. "I thought you would never like that, mother. It would part us, you know, and then what would you do?" "There is always the convent for me, Victor," said his mother, "if you no longer needed me." And she composedly threaded her needle, and began a very minute leaf in the pattern of her embroidery. Victor Carrington looked at his mother with surprise, and some vague sense of pain. She _could_ make up her mind to part with him--she had thought of the possibility, and with complacence. He muttered something about having something to do, and left her, strangely moved, while she calmly worked in at her embroidery. CHAPTER XXVII. "WEAVE THE WARP, AND WEAVE THE WOOF." On the following day Victor Carrington presented himself at Hilton House, and was received by Miss Brewer alone. She was pale, chilly, and ungracious, as usual, and the understanding which had been arrived at between Carrington and herself did not move her to the manifestation of the smallest additional cordiality in her reception of him. "I have to thank you for your prompt compliance with my request, Miss Brewer," said Victor. She made no sound nor sign of encouragement, and he continued. "Since I saw you, another complication has arisen in this matter, which makes our game doubly safe and secure. In order to explain this complication thoroughly, I must ask you to let me put you through a kind of catechism. Have I your permission, Miss Brewer?" "You may ask me any questions you please," returned Miss Brewer, in a hard, cold, even voice; "and I will answer them as truthfully as I can." "Do you know anything of Douglas Dale's family connections and antecedents?" "I know that his mother was Sir Oswald Eversleigh's sister, and that he and Lionel Dale, who was drowned on St. Stephen's day, were left large incomes by their uncle, in addition to some inconsiderable family property which they inherited from their father, Mr. Melville Dale, who was a lawyer, and, I believe, a not very successful one."