"I think the brougham should be here by now, Ronnie. Do you mind finding out? And don't worry to see me home. I'm sure Mrs. Brunton will never forgive me if I drag you away." "Don't be absurd, mater. Of course I sha'n't let you go home by yourself." Ronnie rose, and made his way across the room. "You'll persuade him to stop? I--I'd rather go home alone," said Julia. "Because you're tired. Because you don't want him to see it." The words escaped Aliette before she could control them. She covered herself quickly. "I'm sure that must be the reason. I'm sure, if I had a son, I should never want him to think that I was tired." "You have children then--girls? You couldn't have known otherwise." The novelist in Julia was asleep; she could see no other reason why this "charming creature" should have divined her mentality. "No. I have no children, worse luck!" Ronnie came back to say that the brougham waited. "You mustn't come with me, Ronnie." Julia got to her feet. "Mater, I insist." "Persuade him to stay, Mrs. Brunton." Subconsciously, Aliette knew the incident momentous. His blue eyes were looking down into hers. Behind them she read indecision. He wanted to see his mother home: he wanted to stay with her. She could keep him at her side. Only, if she did keep him--and it would take the littlest look, the littlest gesture,--then she would be interloper indeed. Consciously now, she made her first sacrifice. "I think a son's first duty is to his mother," smiled Aliette Brunton. CHAPTER V 1 Ten days went by. For Aliette, the trivial round of London continued. She attended a terrific _tamasha_ of a wedding--all frocks and roses--at St. George's, Hanover Square; she dined at the Carlton with Hector and a sumptuous client from the money-making North; she walked the park with Ponto, her harlequin Dane, who, as though he understood his mistress was troubled, kept close at heel while she footed it, and thrust a consolatory nose into her lap whenever she sat down; she played lawn-tennis at Queen's; she did her household duties at Lancaster Gate, fighting and defeating a miniature revolution among the female staff. But her emotions she could neither fight nor defeat. These emotions were all strange, sweet, disturbing. For the first time in her life a man obscured the entire mental horizon. Constantly she thought of Ronnie--imagining him her confidant, her friend, her lover. Her mind took a whole week to formulate that last definite word; and even then the word seemed inadequate.