"I don’t think there’s any," she replied at once. "And as for its being hard on mothers, it’s only that kind of mother—foolish and sentimental and selfish—who puts herself into rivalry with the other kind of love, when the time comes for it. The love of a child is very sweet, but it can’t last like that much beyond childhood. She’d had it all. She’s had it to the full. Nobody tried to deprive her of it, though of course she accuses me of trying to do so. I might have done. I shouldn’t have wearied Harry with my love as she has wearied him. I should have been less exigent, less selfish, controlled myself more. She doesn’t know, even now, and I shan’t take the trouble to tell her, that she doesn’t love him nearly as much as she thinks she does. If it weren’t for her jealousy she would be quite content to live her own life chiefly apart from him, now he is grown up, and no longer a child to be petted, and to return petting. She has lived her foolish shallow life apart for the last two years, and she has let it be known that she thinks herself raised in living it. Oh, you needn’t worry yourself about Charlotte. She hasn’t got the depth to feel anything for long." *CHAPTER XXVII* *LADY BRENT AND VIOLA* Lady Brent wondered, when Mrs. Clark opened the door to her at Bastian’s lodgings, how much was known at Royd of what had already happened in this house. If Mrs. Clark had not discovered who Harry was, which seemed unlikely, and had not seen Mrs. Brent, she knew well enough whom she was admitting now. It was not made plain that she expected the visit, but she expressed no surprise at it, and evidently expected to be recognized. Lady Brent said a few words to her about her sister at Royd, as she was being conducted up the stairs. Everything would come into the light now, and it was much better so. Viola was alone in the sitting-room. It had been made very tidy, and was filled with flowers. The great red roses might have been Harry’s gift to her. The little row of vellum-bound books above the table in her corner certainly were, for Wilbraham had procured them to his order. Viola stood by the middle table as they entered. She looked very young and very beautiful—all the more beautiful because of the colour that was flooding her delicate skin, and the half-alarmed look in her dark eyes. Lady Brent waited until the door was shut behind her, searching her with her eyes, and then went forward and kissed her. Viola did not seem to have expected this. She was confused, and there was moisture in her eyes as she greeted Wilbraham, though she smiled at him. Wilbraham spoke first. "You’ve had Lady Brent’s telegram," he said. "And now she’s come herself. Everything is all right, Viola." Her tears fell. "If Harry loves you, my dear, that’s enough for me," said Lady Brent, taking her hand.