"How is it that adoration and sacrifice count for so little?" said Marcella, sadly. "She has given him all the best of her life." And she drew a rapid sketch of the youth's career and the mother's devotion. George listened in silence. What she said showed him that in his conversations with Ancoats that young man had been talking round and about his own case a good deal! and when she paused he said drily: "Poor Mrs. Allison! But, you know, there must be some crumples in the rose-leaves of the great." She looked at him with a momentary astonishment. "Why should one think of her as 'great'? Would not any mother suffer? First of all he is so changed; it is so difficult to get at him--his friends are so unlike hers--he is so wrapped up in London, so apathetic about his estate. All the religious sympathy that meant so much to her is gone. And now he threatens her with this--what shall I call it?"--her lip curled--"this entanglement. If it goes on, how shall we keep her from breaking her heart over it? Poor thing! poor mothers!" She raised her white hand, and let it fall upon her knee with one of the free, instinctive gestures that made her beauty so expressive. But George would not yield himself to her feeling. "Ancoats will get through it--somehow--as other men do," he said stubbornly, "and she must get through it too--and _not_ break her heart." Marcella was silent. He turned towards her after a moment. "You think that a brutal doctrine? But if you'll let me say it, life and ease and good temper are really not the brittle things women make them! Why do they put all their treasure into that one bag they call their affections? There is plenty else in life--there is indeed! It shows poverty of mind!" He laughed, and taking up a pebble dropped it sharply among the goldfish. "Alack!" said Marcella, caressing her child's head as he stood playing beside her. "Hallin, I can't have you kiss my hand like that. Sir George says it's poverty of mind." "It ain't," said Hallin, promptly. But his remark had a deplorable lack of unction, for the goldfish, startled by George's pebble, were at that moment performing evolutions of the greatest interest, and his black eyes were greedily bent upon them. Both laughed, and George let her remark alone. But his few words left on Marcella a painful impression, which renewed her compassion of the night before. This young fellow, just married, protesting against an over-exaltation of the affections!--it struck her as half tragic, half grotesque. And, of course, it was explained by the idiosyncrasies of that little person in a Paris gown now walking about somewhere with Sir Philip!