But it was not true. No woman thinks less of a man for letting her into the secrets of his innermost feelings. Godwin retreated, however, without guessing this, and made no further reference to their conversation until the following morning, when he was on the point of starting on his journey back to his work. “You needn’t tell my mother anything about Miss Brownlow,” he said hurriedly, in a low voice, with his hat in his hand and his eyes on the floor. “But why not? I think she would be pleased. Mamma likes her. And poor mamma wants cheering just now.” “Yes; but it might not come off, you know, and then she’d be disappointed. Well, you’ll see me again in a fortnight.” “You’re more assiduous in your courtship of Miss Brownlow than you were in my case.” “Yes, there’s more work to do in getting up the excitement.” “Godwin, I have something serious to say to you about mamma. You know how reserved she is.” “Yes.” “And don’t you notice a difference in her from visit to visit.” “I am afraid I do. And I know the reason of it--Rees.” Deborah’s voice dropped to an emphatic whisper. “She is breaking her heart about him.” Godwin began to move restlessly from one foot to the other. “Well, well; perhaps that sad ignorance is better than full knowledge would be.” Deborah shuddered. “There is nothing to be done, Godwin, is there?” He shook his head. “Not until the prodigal comes back--as he will do sooner or later, to oust the dutiful son,” he answered bitterly. Deborah said nothing to this--did not even look at him--but her cheeks flushed guiltily. “Well, good-bye, you’ll miss your train,” she said at last. “Good-bye,” said he curtly. And he turned abruptly, without again offering to shake hands, and started on his way to the station. It was true that Mrs. Pennant brooded over the defection of her eldest son. Without having discussed the matter with any one, she knew that there was something discreditable in his mode of life, something which none of the artfully worded suggestions in her own letters could induce him to confess. Belonging, as she did, to that numerous class of women who would allow their sons any latitude and spend their time in efforts, not to reform their darlings, but to shield them, she lived in perpetual terror lest Rees should “get into trouble;” and when, three days after Godwin’s confession to Deborah, Lord St. Austell was announced one morning while Mrs. Pennant was taking her breakfast in her bed-room, the old lady sprang up from her chair with an intuitive conviction that this visit concerned her son. Deborah thought so too. Wishing therefore to spare the old lady as much as she could of any coming shock, she cried out, as Mrs. Pennant hurried towards the door. “What, mamma, you are surely not going to let Lord St. Austell see _you_ in your dressing-gown!”