On the following Wednesday Douglas called on his mother at Manchester Square in the afternoon. As if to emphasize the purely filial motive of his visit, he saluted his mother so affectionately that she was emboldened to be more demonstrative with him than she usually ventured to be. “My darling boy,” she said, holding him fondly for a moment, “this is the second visit you have paid your poor old mother this week. I want to speak to you about something, too. Marian has been with me this morning.” “What! Has she gone?” said Douglas. “Why?” said Mrs. Douglas. “Did you know she was coming?” “She mentioned to me that she intended to come,” he replied, carelessly; “but she bade me not to tell you.” “That accounts for your two visits. Well, Sholto, I do not blame you for spending your time in gayer places than this.” “You must not reproach me for neglecting you, mother. You know my disposition. I am seldom good company for any one; and I do not care to come only to cast a damp on you and your friends when I am morose. I hope you received Marian kindly.” “I did not expect to see her; and I told her so.” “Mother!” “But it made no difference. There is no holding her in check now, Sholto; she cares no more for what I say than if I was her father or you. What could I do but kiss and forgive her? She got the better of me.” “Yes,” said Douglas, gloomily. “She has a wonderful face.” “The less you see of her face, the better, Sholto. I hope you will not go to her house too often.” “Do you doubt my discretion, mother?” “No, no, Sholto. But I am afraid of any unpleasantness arising between you and that man. These working men are so savage to their wives, and so jealous of gentlemen. I hardly like your going into his house at all.” “Absurd, mother! You must not think that he is a navvy in fustian and corduroys. He seems a sensible man: his address is really remarkably good, considering what he is. As to his being savage, he is quite the reverse. His head is full of figures and machinery; and I am told that he does nothing at home but play the piano. He must bore Marian terribly. I do not want to go to his house particularly; but Marian and he are, of course, very sensitive to anything that can be construed as a slight; and I shall visit them once or twice to prevent them from thinking that I wish to snub Conolly. He will be glad enough to have me at his dinner-table. I am afraid I must hurry away now: I have an appointment at the club. Can I do anything for you in town?” “No, thank you, Sholto. I thought you would have stayed with me for a cup of tea.” “Thank you, dear mother, no: not to-day. I promised to be at the club.” “If you promised, of course, you must go. Good-bye. You will come again soon, will you not?” “Some day next week, if not sooner. Good-bye, mother.”