I don’t remember a word of the lecture; and yet there were enough of them to have filled a good-sized dictionary. The stream of Mrs. Amyot’s eloquence had become a flood: one had the despairing sense that she had sprung a leak, and that until the plumber came there was nothing to be done about it. The plumber came at length, in the shape of a clock striking ten; my companion, with a sigh of relief, drifted away in search of Charlie and the others; the audience scattered with the precipitation of people who had discharged a duty; and, without surprise, I found the brown-bearded stranger at my elbow. We stood alone in the bare-floored room, under the flaring chandelier. “I think you told me this afternoon that you were an old friend of Mrs. Amyot’s?” he began awkwardly. I assented. “Will you come in and see her?” “Now? I shall be very glad to, if--” “She’s ready; she’s expecting you,” he interposed. He offered no further explanation, and I followed him in silence. He led me down the long corridor, and pushed open the door of a sitting-room. “Mother,” he said, closing the door after we had entered, “here’s the gentleman who says he used to know you.” Mrs. Amyot, who sat in an easy-chair stirring a cup of bouillon, looked up with a start. She had evidently not seen me in the audience, and her son’s description had failed to convey my identity. I saw a frightened look in her eyes; then, like a frost flower on a window-pane, the dimple expanded on her wrinkled cheek, and she held out her hand. “I’m so glad,” she said, “so glad!” She turned to her son, who stood watching us. “You must have told Lancelot all about me--you’ve known me so long!” “I haven’t had time to talk to your son--since I knew he was your son,” I explained. Her brow cleared. “Then you haven’t had time to say anything very dreadful?” she said with a laugh. “It is he who has been saying dreadful things,” I returned, trying to fall in with her tone. I saw my mistake. “What things?” she faltered. “Making me feel how old I am by telling me about his children.” “My grandchildren!” she exclaimed with a blush. “Well, if you choose to put it so.” She laughed again, vaguely, and was silent. I hesitated a moment and then put out my hand. “I see you are tired. I shouldn’t have ventured to come in at this hour if your son--” The son stepped between us. “Yes, I asked him to come,” he said to his mother, in his clear self-assertive voice. “_I_ haven’t told him anything yet; but you’ve got to--now. That’s what I brought him for.” His mother straightened herself, but I saw her eye waver. “Lancelot--” she began. “Mr. Amyot,” I said, turning to the young man, “if your mother will let me come back to-morrow, I shall be very glad--” He struck his hand hard against the table on which he was leaning. “No, sir! It won’t take long, but it’s got to be said now.”