His mother gave him no peace on this subject. It was she who began the conversation on this occasion.

“John,” she said, “the time has come for me to settle the question of my residence.”

Now the house at Twickenham was the property of the present baronet, but Lady Ball had a jointure of five hundred a year out of her late husband’s estate. It had always been intended that the mother should continue to live with her son and grandchildren in the very probable event of her being left a widow; and it was felt by them all that their means were not large enough to permit, with discretion, separate households; but Lady Ball had declared more than once with extreme vehemence that nothing should induce her to live at the Cedars if Margaret Mackenzie should be made mistress of the house.

“Has the time come especially to-day?” he asked in reply.

“I think we may say it has come especially to-day. We know now that you have got this increase to your income, and nothing is any longer in doubt that we cannot ourselves settle. I need not say that my dearest wish is to remain here, but you know my mind upon that subject.”

“I cannot see any possible reason for your going.”

“Nor can I—except the one. I suppose you know yourself what you mean to do about your cousin. Everybody knows what you ought to do after the disgraceful things that have been put into all the newspapers.”

“That has not been Margaret’s fault.”

“I am by no means so sure of that. Indeed, I think it has been her fault; and now she has made herself notorious by being at this bazaar, and by having herself called a ridiculous name by everybody. Nothing will make me believe but what she likes it.”

“You are ready to believe any evil of her, mother; and yet it is not two years since you yourself wished me to marry her.”

“Things are very different since that; very different indeed. And I did not know her then as I do now, or I should never have thought of such a thing, let her have had all the money in the world. She had not misbehaved herself then with that horrible curate.”

“She has not misbehaved herself now,” said the son, in an angry voice.

“Yes, she has, John,” said the mother, in a voice still more angry.

“That’s a matter for me to judge. She has not misbehaved herself in my eyes. It is a great misfortune,—a great misfortune for us both,—the conduct of this man; but I won’t allow it to be said that it was her fault.”

“Very well. Then I suppose I may arrange to go. I did not think, John, that I should be turned out of your father’s house so soon after your father’s death. I did not indeed.”

Thereupon Lady Ball got out her handkerchief, and her son perceived that real tears were running down her face.