But although this autocratic middle-class dowager had been hitherto philosophically content to remain in the background, it was more than probable that she would take a different view of this highly important matter, and would be less amenable to reason, should the beautiful daughter-in-law, whose loveliness might, as the saying is, “adorn a court,” chance to be more highly appreciated than herself by the society to which her son was by courtesy admitted. Even, however, were that not to be the case, there still remained the more than probability that the homage which in John’s home had hitherto been paid to herself, to _her_ hospitality, _her_ “pleasantness,” and _her_ powers of causing social enjoyment, would be shared by, if not indeed transferred to, the far younger and more attractive woman who was so soon to make an inroad into Updown Paddocks. Like many hospitable people, Mrs. Beacham was rather inordinately fond of popularity, and the idea of sharing that popularity with a young and winsome bride was eminently distasteful to her. Ah, well indeed is it for us that the dark corners of our hearts can be seen only by ourselves and by a God who judges mercifully. Our best friends and our dearest relations--the wife of our bosom, and the husband of our choice--might have to hold his or her breath with surprise and consternation could a glance behind the unholy of unholies be obtained, and what is thought and planned in those hidden corners be brought to light. Honor Blake’s future mother-in-law was neither a cold-hearted nor a cruel woman; and yet, as the time of her expected deposition drew nigh, it is to be feared that not a few of the reprehensible feelings which go far towards the making of a villain rose up within her breast against John’s unoffending bride elect. “Well, mother, and what’s the case with you? Jolly--eh?” exclaimed a cheery voice behind the widow, as that grieving woman, with her head bent lower than was usual with her, prepared to take a fourth turn along her favourite walk. “Pretty bobbish--eh?” John repeated, attempting, after the fashion of cheerful strong-nerved persons, to brighten the countenance and enliven the spirits of the sorrowful by a loud voice and unaccustomed sportiveness of language. “Speculating on the crop of gooseberries, eh?” John added, offering his arm to his mother, who accepted the attention with a sigh that boded ill for the success of her son’s efforts. “Plenty of work this year in the preserving line, I expect; I never saw a greater promise of fruit.” “It wasn’t the gooseberries nor yet the currants I was thinking of, John,” said Mrs. Beacham mournfully. “It’s to-morrow was in my head, and I couldn’t help wishing, that I couldn’t, that Honor was more steady-like, and older too, John, for your sake. It would be better by half if she was nigher thirty than twenty. Why she’s little better than a child, and it’s not so easy, let me tell you, to put old heads upon young shoulders.”