she watched Hugh's growing love for Maud,
the thought of falling from her own high
honourable place in his regard became more
and more painful and intolerable to her.
Hugh had implicit faith in his mother's
purity and goodness. She was his high
model of womanhood; and he had often
said to her, "I only hope my wife may be
as good as my mother! I can't wish for
anything better." But could he still say
so when he knew——?

There was a little human jealousy within
her breast which made her feel that to
humble herself now before Hugh, and say
to him, "My son, I have sinned. Forgive
me!" would be to yield to that other woman
whom he loved, a too absolute supremacy:
to abdicate in her favour the sole pride and
glory of her life. She did not hate Maud
for stealing Hugh's heart. The wife would
be nearest and dearest; that, she was
resigned, if not content, to bear. She would
still be his honoured mother. But she
thought she should come to hate Maud if
Hugh ever were to diminish, by one iota,
his tribute of filial reverence. And all this
time Maud knew no more of the position
she occupied in the thoughts of the mother
and son than we any of us know of the
place we hold in each other's minds.

After the party at Mr. Lovegrove's, Maud
had seriously begged her aunt not to take
her out to any similar gathering again.

"I would not say this, dear Aunt Hilda,"
said Maud, "if I thought that you derived
any gratification from the society of those
people. But I watched you the other night,
and I saw—I fancied—that you looked
very weary and uninterested."

"Not uninterested as long as my pet was
there. I like to see ye admired, Maud."

"Admired! Dear Aunt Hilda——"

"Well I know, I grant ye, that the folks
there were not of the class you ought to
associate with. And if I were but in my
rightful and proper position, what a
delight it would be for me to present ye to
the world you were born to live in! But
as to presenting, my dear child, sure how
would I go to court in a street cab? and
living in Gower-street! I don't say
anything against it, and some of the old family
mansions, are in drearier places, but, after
all, you know, there would be a degree of
incongruity about attempting to entertain,
or anything of that sort, in a lodging of
this kind; and ye know, Maud, he barely
allows me enough for the necessaries of
life as it is. Some women would run him
into debt. But I couldn't bring myself to
do that—barring absolute necessity: not
to mention that I'd have to bear all the
bullying and annoyance, seeing that he's
safe and comfortable away beyond seas!"

Maud endeavoured to persuade her aunt
that it was no feeling of pride which rendered
her unwilling to go to the Lovegroves. She
disclaimed such a sentiment with much
warmth. No; it was simply that the people
she met there were uncongenial to her.
That might be partly her own fault, but
the fact remained so.

Maud did not say that the anxiety of
suspense about Veronica made it irksome
to her to see strangers. It was a subject
that could not be mentioned between her
aunt and herself. But as the weeks wore
on, and no answer came to her letter, her
heart sank. She had scarcely been aware
how strong a hope had sprung up within
her on the receipt of Veronica's letter,
until she began to measure the depth of
her disappointment as the time rolled by
and brought no further communication.

In the old days at Shipley, Maud would
have enjoyed the oddity and newness of
the society she had met at the Lovegroves'.
But now such enjoyment was impossible
to her. She was conscious of nervously
shrinking from a new face, of nervously
dreading a chance word which might touch
on the still recent shame and sorrow that
had befallen them all, as a wounded person
starts away from the approach of even the
gentlest hand lest it should lay itself
unawares upon his hurt.

Mr. Frost's sudden mention of his
proposed journey to Italy had disturbed her
for this reason: though she told herself
how absurd and weak it was to be so
disturbed. Hundreds of people went to Italy
of course; many even of the few people
she knew, were likely enough to do so.
But in the frequent silent direction of her
thoughts towards Veronica, she had grown
to associate her entirely with the word
'Italy', as though that country held but
one figure for all men's observation!

The question persistently presented itself
to her mind: Did Mr. Frost know the story
of Veronica? Was he aware who the man
was with whom she had fled?

Something a little forced and unnatural
in Mr. Frost's manner of introducing the
subject of his approaching journey, had
struck her. Why should he have selected
her to speak to respecting Hugh Lockwood's
prospects? Had he had any purpose in his
mind of sounding her respecting her feeling
towards Veronica, and had he chosen