“As absurd as ever, mother, and younger I’m certain.” He thought he had never seen his mother radiant with so ethereal a beauty. “You pet,” he went on, taking her hand, “I never dreamed of your meeting me.” “But what a lovely blue engine they gave your train, dearest,” and she slipped a cushion in Gaveston’s corner. Gav nodded to the chauffeur. “I’ll drive,” he said, and then quickly: “No, I won’t. Home, Curzon.” And he got inside the luxurious _coupé_ beside Lady Penhaligon. For suddenly he had seen his mother’s sombre eyelids fluttering in that faint pathetic way they had. How helpless, how pitiful that look was! And how terribly familiar! It only appeared when her life had reached one of its great crises. The car sped from the station. “And now, dearest, you’ll be able to help me,” Gav heard his mother murmuring as she fumbled in the embossed leather pocket on the door of the car. He felt sure something had happened. “Not again, Mums?” he asked with a gentle but worldly smile. “Yes: respondent,” she smiled back. “But, seriously, do you think black is _really_ necessary?” and she handed him a folded copy of _The Times_. “I must think it over, mother dear,” and he looked down the familiar column of the paper. DIVORCE AND ADMIRALTY Dawkins _v._ Dawkins and Smithers. Jones _v._ Jones and another (Pt. Hd.). Penhaligon _v._ Penhaligon, Rosenbaum, Litovski, du Val, Spirella, van Houten, Casablanca and Mahmoud Pasha. “Next Tuesday, I think they said it was,” said Lady Julia Penhaligon, “and it’s going to mean a new step-dad for you, Gav. Do you prefer one nationality to another? They all have their attractions, you know. I love travelling, though I never went to the Arctic.” Gaveston was never a Jingo, but unhesitatingly he answered, “English.”[5] [5] The late Mr. Budd took an active interest in the League of Nations. (LIT. EXEC.) “I suppose you’re right,” she sighed. “Yes, Joey Rosenbaum’s certainly the dearest of dears, but so’s his wife really, and then that would mean another case, and how expensive things are getting.… I owe Reville thousands as it is.… Oh, Gav,” she coaxed, “would you mind _mon petit du Val_? He’s so nice at ordering a dinner--oh, you’d _love_ him.” Curzon was opening the door. “_Justement comme vous voulez, ma chérie_,” said Gav with courtly grace as, arm-in-arm, they went up the steps. Home again! * * * * *