She had not paid much attention to this. She was wondering whether she dared talk to him of the life, as it appeared to her, from which he had been kept secluded. It had been tacitly accepted, all through his boyhood, that no mystery was to be made of it, and any questions he might ask should be answered, but that his being kept at Royd was to be taken as a natural thing. After her late revolt she had swung round to a complete acceptance of the understanding by which those who were responsible for Harry should share in the seclusion which had been laid down as the best thing for him during his boyhood. Only so could it be accepted without question by him. Lady Brent had triumphed, and had shown, this evening, that she bore no malice on account of what had lately happened. Mrs. Brent was at peace with her, and once more a loyal supporter of her views. But there was a little jealousy and a little egotism left. She was Harry’s mother. If any enlightenment was to be brought to him as to what lay before him, surely she might be considered the right person to give it! It was only because she knew that Lady Brent would not think so that she hesitated. "Oh, drinking and gambling," she said, catching him up. "No, I don’t think those would be temptations to you, brought up as you have been, though one never knows, with young men. It’s women _I_ should be afraid of. They’ll try to get hold of you. You see you’ll be a great catch, Harry. And of course you’re very handsome. You’ll have to be careful about designing women." No, decidedly, Lady Brent would not have approved of this kind of warning. It seemed to be distasteful to Harry too. "All right, mother, I’ll take care," he said, shortly. "It would never do for you to marry beneath you," she went on, rather surprisingly, and would have gone on to amplify her statement, but that Harry suddenly cut her short. "I’m most frightfully hungry, mother," he said. "Let’s go in and see if we can get hold of anything. Then I think it will be about time for me to go to bed." *CHAPTER VIII* *AUGUST* Harry stood at a window of his room in the tower, looking out on to the trees, which tossed and struggled against the gale. Heavy clouds were racing across the sky and at no long intervals gusts of rain rattled against the westward window.