He came with misgivings and with relief. The last twenty-four hours had inclined him to the state of tension in which the unexpected is always the portentous, but in which one waits, nevertheless, for something unlooked-for to occur. He did not know what he dreaded to hear, but the summons alarmed him, even while he welcomed it for permitting him to go to the house. He threw a rapid glance round the parlour, and replied to his mother's greeting with quick interrogation. "What has happened?" "Nothing of grave importance has happened. I want to speak to you." "I was afraid something was the matter," he said, more easily. "What is it?" He took the seat opposite to her, and she was dismayed to observe the alteration in him. She contemplated him a few seconds irresolutely. "Philip," she said, "this afternoon Miss Brettan was anxious to tell me something; she was anxious to make me her confidant. And I wouldn't listen to her." "Oh?" he said.... "And you wouldn't listen to her?" "No, I wouldn't listen to her. I said, 'My son shall tell me, or I won't hear.' This afternoon I had no more idea of sending for you than you had of coming. But I have been thinking it over; she's in your mother's house, and she's the woman you love. You do love her, Philip?" "I asked her to be my wife," he answered simply. "I thought so. And she refused you?" "Yes, she refused me. If I haven't told you before, it was because she refused me. To have spoken of it to you would have been to give pain--needless pain--to you and to her." Mrs. Kincaid considered. "You are quite right," she admitted; "your mistake was to suppose I shouldn't see it for myself." She turned her eyes from him and looked ostentatiously in another direction. "Now," she added, "she is going away! Perhaps you already knew, but----" "No," he replied, "I didn't know; I thought it likely, but I didn't know. I understand why you sent for me." He got up and went across to her, and kissed her on the brow. "I understand why it was you sent for me," he repeated. "What a tender little mother it is! And to lose her companion, too!" Where he leant beside her, she could not see how white his face had grown. "Are we going to let her go, Phil?" He stroked her hand. "I am afraid we must let her go, mother, as she doesn't want to stop." "You don't mean to interfere, then? You won't do anything to prevent it?" "I am not able to prevent it," he rejoined coldly. "I have no authority." "Indeed?" murmured Mrs. Kincaid. "It seems I might have spared my pains." "No," said her son; "your pains were well taken. I'm very glad you have spoken to me--or rather I'm very glad to have spoken to you--for you know now I meant no wrong by my silence." "But--but, Philip----" "But Miss Brettan must go mother, because she wishes to!"