George went into the shop, to get from it some personal trifles he had left there. He deemed it well to depart at once, and carry the news home to Mrs. Ryle himself. The cards and trimmings lay in the unfinished state he had left them. What a change, that moment and this! One or two of the employes noticed his radiant countenance. "Has anything happened?" they asked. "Yes," answered George. "I have been suddenly lifted into paradise." He started on his way, leaving his things to be sent after him. His footsteps scarcely touched the ground. Not a rough ridge of the road felt he; not a sharp stone; not a hill. Only when he turned in at the gate did he remember there was his mother's displeasure to be met and grappled with. Nora gave a shriek when he entered the house. "_George!_ What brings you here?" "Where's my mother?" was George's only answer. "In the best parlour," said Nora. "And I can tell you she's not in the best of humours just now, so I'd advise you not to go in." "What about?" asked George, taking it for granted she had heard the news about himself, and that was the grievance. But he was agreeably undeceived. "It's about John Pinder. He has been having two of the meads ploughed up, and he never asked the missis first. She _is_ angry." "Has Chattaway been here to see my mother, Nora?" "He came up on horseback in a desperate hurry half-an-hour ago; but she was out on the farm, so he said he'd call again. It was through going out this morning that she discovered what they were about with the fields. She says she thinks John Pinder must be going out of his mind, to take things upon himself in the way he is doing." George bent his steps to the drawing-room. Mrs. Ryle was seated before her desk, writing a note. The expression of her face as she looked up at George between the white lappets of her widow's cap was resolutely severe. It changed to astonishment. Strange to say, she was writing to Mr. Wall to stop the signing of the indentures, or to desire that they might be cancelled if signed. She could not do without George at home, she said; and she told him why she could not. "Mamma," said George, "will you be angry if I tell you something that has struck me in all this?" "Tell it," said Mrs. Ryle. "I feel quite certain Chattaway has been acting with a motive; he has some private reason for wishing to get me away from home. That's what he has been working for; otherwise he would never have troubled himself about me. It is not in his nature." Mrs. Ryle gazed at George steadfastly, as if weighing his words, and presently knit her brow. George could read her countenance tolerably well. He felt sure she had arrived at a similar conclusion, and that it irritated her. He resumed.