And, being Humility, she had spoken the truth. But being a woman, even in the act of pardon she could not forego a small thrust, and in giving must withhold something. And Honoria, being a woman, divined that something was withheld. “And Taffy--your son--do you think that _he_--?” “He never speaks, if he thinks of it. He will be here presently. You know--do you not? they are to light the great lantern on the new lighthouse to-night for the first time. The men have moved in, and he is down with them making preparations. You have seen the notices of the Trinity Board? They have been posted for months. Taffy is as eager over it as a boy; but he promised to be back before sunset to drink tea with me in honour of the event; and afterwards I was to walk down to the cliff with him to see.” “Would you mind if I stayed?” Humility considered before answering. “I had rather you stayed. He’s like a boy over this business; but he’s a man, after all.” After this they fell into quite trivial talk, while Humility prepared the tea things. “Your mother--Mrs. Venning--how does she face the journey?” “You must see her,” said Humility, smiling, and led her into the room where the old lady reclined in bed, with a flush on each waxen cheek. She had heard their voices. “Bless you”--she was quite cheerful--“I’m ready to go as far as they’ll carry me! All I ask is that in the next place they’ll give me a window where I can see the boy’s lamp when he’s built it.” Humility brought in the table and tea-things, and set them out by the invalid’s bed. She went out into the kitchen to look to the kettle. In that pause Honoria found it difficult to meet Mrs. Venning’s eyes; but the old lady was wise enough to leave grudges to others. It was enough, in the time left to her, to accept what happened and leave the responsibility to Providence. Honoria, replying but scarcely listening to her talk, heard a footfall at the outer door--Taffy’s footfall; then the click of a latch and Humility’s voice saying, “There’s a visitor inside; come to take tea with you.” “A visitor?” He was standing in the doorway. “_You?_” He blushed in his surprise. Honoria rose. “If I may,” she said, and wondered if she might hold out a hand. But he held out his, quite frankly, and laughed. “Why, of course. They will be lighting up in half an hour. We must make haste.” Once or twice during tea he stole a glance from Honoria to his mother; and each time fondly believed that it passed undetected. His talk was all about the light-house and the preparations there, and he rattled on in the highest spirits. Two of the women knew, and the third guessed, that this chatter was with him unwonted. At length he too seemed to be struck by this. “But what nonsense I’m talking!” he protested, breaking off midway in a sentence and blushing again. “I can’t help it, though. I’m feeling just as big as the light-house to-night, with my head wound up and turning round like the lantern!”