struggling back into her old armour of cheerfulness: “My dear, how could you imagine such a thing? I only meant that, after the decided stand Mamma took about its being Ellen’s duty to go back to her husband, it seems strange that she should be seized with this sudden whim to see her, when there are half a dozen other grandchildren that she might have asked for. But we must never forget that Mamma, in spite of her wonderful vitality, is a very old woman.”

Mr. Welland’s brow remained clouded, and it was evident that his perturbed imagination had fastened at once on this last remark. “Yes: your mother’s a very old woman; and for all we know Bencomb may not be as successful with very old people. As you say, my dear, it’s always one thing after another; and in another ten or fifteen years I suppose I shall have the pleasing duty of looking about for a new doctor. It’s always better to make such a change before it’s absolutely necessary.” And having arrived at this Spartan decision Mr. Welland firmly took up his fork.

“But all the while,” Mrs. Welland began again, as she rose from the luncheon-table, and led the way into the wilderness of purple satin and malachite known as the back drawing-room, “I don’t see how Ellen’s to be got here tomorrow evening; and I do like to have things settled for at least twenty-four hours ahead.”

Archer turned from the fascinated contemplation of a small painting representing two Cardinals carousing, in an octagonal ebony frame set with medallions of onyx.

“Shall I fetch her?” he proposed. “I can easily get away from the office in time to meet the brougham at the ferry, if May will send it there.” His heart was beating excitedly as he spoke.

Mrs. Welland heaved a sigh of gratitude, and May, who had moved away to the window, turned to shed on him a beam of approval. “So you see, Mamma, everything will be settled twenty-four hours in advance,” she said, stooping over to kiss her mother’s troubled forehead.

May’s brougham awaited her at the door, and she was to drive Archer to Union Square, where he could pick up a Broadway car to carry him to the office. As she settled herself in her corner she said: “I didn’t want to worry Mamma by raising fresh obstacles; but how can you meet Ellen tomorrow, and bring her back to New York, when you’re going to Washington?”

“Oh, I’m not going,” Archer answered.

“Not going? Why, what’s happened?” Her voice was as clear as a bell, and full of wifely solicitude.

“The case is off—postponed.”

“Postponed? How odd! I saw a note this morning from Mr. Letterblair to Mamma saying that he was going to Washington tomorrow for the big patent case that he was to argue before the Supreme Court. You said it was a patent case, didn’t you?”

“Well—that’s it: the whole office can’t go. Letterblair decided to go this morning.”

“Then it’s not postponed?” she continued, with an insistence so unlike her that he felt the blood rising to his face, as if he were blushing for her unwonted lapse from all the traditional delicacies.

“No: but my going is,” he answered, cursing the unnecessary explanations that he had given when he had announced his intention of going to Washington, and wondering where he had read that clever liars give details, but that the cleverest do not. It did not hurt him half as much to tell May an untruth as to see her trying to pretend that she had not detected him.

“I’m not going till later on: luckily for the convenience of your family,” he continued, taking base refuge in sarcasm. As he spoke he felt that she was looking at him, and he turned his eyes to hers in order not


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