He returned to the fireplace, and stood looking down upon her—­grinning.

Mary had resumed her embroidery.  She, too, was dimly conscious of something disappointing.

“Of course, if you choose to take it like that, you can,” she said, rather tartly.  “Of course, everything can be made ridiculous.”

“Well, that’s a blessing, anyway!” said Ashe, with his merry laugh.  “But look here, Mary, tell me about yourself.  What have you been doing?—­dancing—­riding, eh?”

He threw himself down beside her, and began an elder-brotherly cross-examination, which lasted till Lady Tranmore returned and begged him to go at once to his father.

When he returned to the drawing-room, Ashe found his mother alone.  It was growing dark, and she was sitting idle, her hands in her lap, waiting for him.

“I must be off, dear,” he said to her.  “You won’t come down and see me take my seat?”

She shook her head.

“I think not.  What did you think of your father?”

“I don’t see much change,” he said, hesitating.

“No, he’s much the same.”

“And you?” He slid down on the sofa beside her and threw his arm round her.  “Have you been fretting?”

Lady Tranmore made no reply.  She was a self-contained woman, not readily moved to tears.  But he felt her hand tremble as he pressed it.

“I sha’n’t fret now”—­she said after a moment—­“now that you’ve come back.”

Ashe’s face took a very soft and tender expression.

“Mother, you know—­you think a great deal too much of me—­you’re too ambitious for me.”

She gave a sound between a laugh and a sob, and, raising her hands, she smoothed back his curly hair and held his face between them.

“When do you see Lord Parham?” she asked.

“Eight o’clock—­in his room at the House.  I’ll send you up a note.”

“You’ll be home early?”

“No—­don’t wait for me.”

She dropped her hands, after giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“I know where you’re going!  It’s Madame d’Estrees’ evening.”

“Well—­you don’t object?”

“Object?” She shrugged her shoulders.  “So long as it amuses you—­You won’t find one woman there to-night.”

“Last time there were two,” he said, smiling, as he rose from the sofa.

“I know—­Lady Quantock—­and Mrs. Mallory.  Now they’ve deserted her, I hear.  What fresh gossip has turned up I don’t know.  Of course,” she sighed, “I’ve been out of the world.  But I believe there have been developments.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about it—­and I don’t think I want to know.  She’s very agreeable, and one meets everybody there.”

“Everybody.  Ungallant creature!” she said, giving a little pull to his collar, the set of which did not please her.

“Sorry!  Mother!”—­his laughing eyes pursued her—­“Do you want to marry me off directly?—­I know you do!”