“Do you know one of the few things I can remember my father saying was about you?” “God bless my soul,” said Jimmie. “I had almost forgotten you ever had a father--dear old chap! What did he say?” “I remember him telling you that one day you would die of incurable optimism. For years I used to think it was some horrible disease, and I used to whisper in my prayers, 'O God, please cure Jimmie of optimism,' and sometimes lie awake at nights thinking of it.” “Well, do you think your prayer has been answered?” asked Jimmie, amused. She shifted herself a little nearer him and put her hand on his knee. “Thank goodness, no. You've got it as bad as ever--and I believe I've caught it.” Then, between a sob and a laugh, she added: “Oh, Jimmie dear, your stupid old head could never tell you what you have done for me since we have been abroad. If I had stayed at home I think I should have died of--of--of malignant pessimism. You will never, never, never understand.” “And will you ever understand what you have done for me, my child?” said Jimmie, gravely. “We won't talk about these things. They are best in our hearts.” Chapter XVIII--A RUDDERLESS SHIP THAT autumn pressed heavily upon Mrs. Hardacre. Norma's engagement, without being broken off, was indefinitely suspended, and Norma, by going abroad with Mrs. Deering immediately on her return from Cornwall, had placed herself beyond reach of maternal influence. It is true that Mrs. Hardacre wrote many letters; but as Norma's replies mainly consisted of a line or two on a picture post-card, it is to be doubted whether she ever read them. Mrs. Hardacre began to feel helpless. Morland could give her little assistance. He shrugged his shoulders at her appeals. He was perfectly determined to marry Norma, but trusted to time to restore her common-sense and lead her into the path of reason. Nothing that he could do would be of any avail. Mrs. Hardacre urged him to join the ladies on the Continent and bring matters to a crisis. He replied that an election was crisis enough for one man in a year, and furthermore the autumn session necessitated his attendance in the House. He was quite satisfied, he told her stolidly, with things as they were, and in the meantime was actually finding an interest in his new political life. But Mrs. Hardacre shared neither his satisfaction nor his interest, a mother's point of view being so different from that of a lover. As if the loss of ducal favour and filial obedience were not enough for the distraught lady, her husband one morning threw a business letter upon the table, and with petulant curses on the heads of outside brokers, incoherently explained that he was ruined. They were liars and knaves and thieves, he sputtered. He would drag them all into the police court, he would write to the “Times,” he would go and horsewhip the blackguards. Damme if he would n't!