Her life and habits of thought were simple, but she had been highly educated. She was an accomplished linguist, a good musician, a most intelligent companion. Things which she could not comprehend she would, at least, accept on faith. There had never been the shadow of a quarrel between David and herself. But she felt, by intuition, that Agnes Carillon had, in some way, affected his life, his work, his whole nature. She could not blame her, because she knew nothing definite about the understanding which existed, plainly enough, between her son and this young lady. She had a horror, however, of flirtation and flirts. It seemed to her that, under all this talk and correspondence on art, poetry, scenery, and the like, there was a strong under-current of emotion. So she smiled upon Agnes with a certain reserve, as though she were not quite sure whether she had any great reason to feel delighted at her call. At a glance from David, however, her look softened into real friendliness. "I was so surprised to see Mr. Rennes here," said Agnes. "I am surprised, too," said the older woman. A restraint fell upon all three. David walked about the room, looking for things he did not want, and asking questions he did not wish answered, although he hoped they would interest his mother. But his spirits soon flagged. The conversation became trivial and absurd. "Where are you staying?" asked Mrs. Rennes. "I am with Pensée Fitz Rewes," said Agnes; "she has gone in the carriage to do a little shopping. She will send it here for me." The carriage was at that instant announced. David went down the stairs with Agnes and handed her in. He said nothing. Mrs. Rennes watched the pair from the window and nodded her farewell with much gravity. When David returned to her, he found her reading peacefully Trollope's last novel. It was for these graces that he loved her most. He scribbled letters at her writing-table for the next hour. Then he spoke-- "I am going," said he, "to the East. I need a change. I suppose it will mean six months." "But how you will enjoy it!" "And what will you do?" "I live from day to day, my dear. I am quite contented." "This journey is not a mere caprice. I have been contemplating it for some time," he said. Mrs. Rennes' hair was white and her long, equine countenance, sallow. When her feelings were stirred, she showed it only by a cloudy pallor which would steal over her face as a kind of veil--separating her from the rest of mortals. "One has to get away from England," continued Rennes: "one has to get away from one's self." "And where is your self now?" she asked, not venturing to look at him. "With that girl," he answered, suddenly; "with that girl." "Do you love her?" "I don't know. I suppose I do. Oh! I would love her if I could ever be absolutely sincere. But this I do know--I can't see her married to that fellow Reckage. So I must go away." "I am afraid she is a coquette--a serious coquette, my dear boy."