"Oh, not now," says Lady Rylton, who does not understand him, who could not, if she tried, fathom the depths of self-contempt that he endures, when he thinks of this evening's work, of his permitting this child to marry him, and give him her wealth--for nothing--nothing! What _can_ he give her in return? An old name. She had not seemed to care for that--to know the importance of it. "Now it will rise again, and at all events, Maurice, you have saved the old home!" "True!" says he. "For you." "For _me?_ Oh, dearest boy, what _can_ you mean?" "Yes, for you only. She refuses to live here with you." The very disquietude of his soul has driven him into this mad avowal. Looking at her with dull eyes and lowering brows, he tells himself--in this, one of the saddest hours of his life--that he hates the mother who bore him. Her delight in his engagement is odious to him; it seems to fan his rage against her. What has she ever done for him, what sympathy has she ever shown? She has embittered the life of the woman he loves; she has insulted the woman he is to marry. What consideration does she deserve at his hands? "She refuses to live here with _me?"_ says Lady Rylton. "And why, may I ask?" Her small, pale face flushes angrily. "I don't know, really; you should be the one to know." His tone is so cold, so uncompromising, that she decides on coming to terms for the present. Afterwards, when that girl has married him, she will remember to some purpose, so far as _she_ is concerned. There is a little tale that she can tell her. "Dearest Maurice, how could I? I always fancied I treated her with the utmost kindness. But why should we worry about it? No doubt it was a mere girlish fancy, a distaste," playfully, "to the terrible mamma-in-law of fiction. Such monsters do not exist now. She will learn that by degrees. You will bring her to stay with me for awhile on your return from your honeymoon?" "If you desire it." "Of course I shall desire it; then she and I will become great friends. You are going? My love to your little _fiancée_, and say I am so charmed, so delighted! And tell her I should like her to come to me for a quiet little talk in the morning about eleven; I shall have no one with me then but Marian." "She shall not come to you, then," says Rylton. A dark red mounts to his brow. What a diabolical thought--to receive those two together! "Do you _hear?"_ says he imperiously. "Good heavens, yes!" says his mother, pretending prettily to cower before him. "What a tone! What a look! What have I done, then?" "What devilish cruelty is in your heart I don't know," says he, his passion carrying him beyond all bounds; "but understand at once, I will not have Tita tortured." Lady Rylton leans back in her chair and laughs.