"Now may I open these parcels, mother?" The note of submission was unusual. "A pincushion from my Sunday class. Dear little things! And a pair of vases from the maids. How kind of them. Ah, this is from you, mother—a new hat!—and what a beauty! How did you guess that I wanted one? Getting things for climbing cost such a lot,—I've no money left for clothes. And a dear little writing-case from father. Oh, thank you!" She lifted a large bouquet of hothouse flowers, guessing the truth before she read—"From Hamilton Stirling." "I don't think I ought to keep that." "You could hardly send it back, my dear." "I suppose—not. But I wish—" The Rector bolted. "Mother, we didn't write earlier, because we thought—I thought—it was better to wait. But just at last I changed my mind." "There is a letter from a Mr. Maurice." Mrs. Winton's head became grenadier-like in pose, though she spoke still with studied kindness. "What did father say?" "He has not been able to answer it. No address was given." "Oh, that was me—I mean, it was my doing. At least I wanted it; though really Dick had made no plans, and didn't know where he would be for two or three nights. I wanted you and father to see him. You couldn't say anything without seeing him." "I think we will leave that question till to=morrow." "Dick will be coming." "Not for a day or two, I imagine. We will wait till to-morrow. You have your unpacking to attend to,—and I must write some letters." "Oh yes,—and all my Swiss treasures to get out." She ran off blithely, not sorry to defer the great discussion. Mrs. Winton smiled to herself. The letters that had to be written made slow advance. Mrs. Winton leant back in her chair, and gave herself up to thought. Mrs. Brutt's second effusion had not taken precisely that effect which it was meant to take. Like many mothers, Mrs. Winton could find unlimited fault with her daughter; but if an outsider ventured to do the same, she bristled into instant defence. "I call it a very impertinent letter," she had said to her husband, after reading it. "Mrs. Brutt is out of temper; but, really, I do not see why she should have expected to be told. If she had done her duty, no such complication would have arisen. She has been disgracefully careless; just wrapped up in herself and her fancies. Mr. Maurice has behaved very ill; but his duty was to write to us, not to consult Mrs. Brutt." "Poor little Doris!" the Rector said. "Yes. I really do not see that the child has been so much to blame." This unlooked-for leniency gave immense relief to Mr. Winton. "She has fallen a victim between the two. Well, mercifully it is stopped now!" The Rector's lips formed a very dubious—"Is it?"—"And it will soon be over. The great thing at present is secrecy. Mr. Hamilton Stirling must certainly hear nothing." The Rector asked how she meant to gag Mrs. Brutt.