The house was in gloomy darkness, and, the door being opened, there stepped into the resulting blackness the grim grey figure of Netherby’s mother. “Ah, Mrs. Gomme, how are you?” The youth hailed her, and entered the hall. And he added, as the door was closed behind him: “You look unhappy, Mrs. Gomme.” The old lady sighed: “I am feeling a little lonely, Noll.” “Isn’t Netherby in?” he asked. Her mouth shut firmly: “No,” she said. “Gone out?” “Gone out,” she answered grimly. “Do you know where?” “No,” she said. “He has gone to meet some fool of a girl.” Noll whistled: “Oho!” said he. “Quite so.” There was an uncomfortable pause. “Who?” asked Noll. “God only knows. But come in here, Noll,” said the old lady; and led him into her little sitting-room. She lit the gas; went to her writing-table; took a rumpled piece of paper out of a drawer, and handed it to Noll. Noll smoothed out the piece of paper, glanced at the grim old face before him from under his brows; and read: “There’s glory in my dear love’s hair, Sweet fragrance hath great part in it; The threads have caught my feet in lair, And tangled is my heart in it. The beckoning laughter in her eyes (With the shy look therein) Now wins me to her, then denies The sweet lips and the chin....” The old lady watched the reading keenly. When it was finished, she said: “I found that in his waste-paper basket.” “Oh, fie! Mrs. Gomme!” Noll handed her back the sheet of crumpled paper. The old lady flung it into the fire; she sat down in her armchair and watched it burn. Noll smiled: “Ah, Mrs. Gomme--when a man is in love with a woman he does not write poetry about it--he does it. When a man writes poetry about love, he is not in love with love, but with reputation.” The old lady shook her head grimly: “If it began like _that_,” said she, unheeding of arguments, and jealous, brooding still--“what must the rest have been like?” Noll laughed, and put his hand on the old lady’s shoulder: “Ah! Mrs. Gomme--the girl has probably followed your example--you see, the last generation set such a bad example in these things....” CHAPTER XLII _Wherein we are shown an Emotional Hairdresser at Loggerheads with Destiny_ It was close upon midnight when Noll, baffled in his attempt to find Gomme, his feet jigging restlessly to a new music that was in his ears, stepped it out through London town, as a man will go on the eve of momentous decision in his life, to visit the old haunts of his boyhood. As he came into the street where had been his old home, he wondered whether his mother lay asleep--what she was doing--what thinking. He saw a light in her rooms; walked across the street; halted before the door, half inclined to take her into his delight---- In the black shadows flung by the street lamp there sat in a huddle on the topmost doorstep the silent figure of a man. Noll bent forward and peered at him: “Devlin?”