After the departure of Nora Worth Mrs. Brudenell seated herself upon the sofa, leaned her elbow upon the little stand at her side, bowed her head upon her hand and fell into deep thought.  Should she speak to Herman Brudenell of this matter?  No! it was too late; affairs had gone too far; they must now take their course; the foolish girl’s fate must be on her own head, and on that of her careless elder sister; they would both be ruined, that was certain; no respectable family would ever employ either of them again; they would starve.  Well, so much the better; they would be a warning to other girls of their class, not to throw out their nets to catch gentlemen!  Herman had been foolish, wicked even, but then young men will be young men; and then, again, of course it was that artful creature’s fault!  What could she, his mother, do in the premises?  Not speak to her son upon the subject, certainly; not even let him know that she was cognizant of the affair!  What then?  She was going away with her daughters in a day or two!  And good gracious, he would be left alone in the house! to do as he pleased! to keep bachelor’s hall! to bring that girl there as his housekeeper, perhaps, and so desecrate his sacred, patrimonial home!  No, that must never be!  She must invite and urge her son to accompany herself and his sisters to Washington.  But if he should decline the invitation and persist in his declination, what then?  Why, as a last resort, she would give up the Washington campaign and remain at home to guard the sanctity of her son’s house.

Having come to this conclusion, Mrs. Brudenell once more touched the bell, and when Jovial made his appearance she said: 

“Let the young ladies know that I am alone, and they may join me now.”

In a few minutes Miss Brudenell and Miss Eleanora entered the room, followed by the gentlemen, who had just left the dinner-table.

Coffee was immediately served, and soon after the guests took leave.

The young ladies also left the drawing-room, and retired to their chambers to superintend the careful packing of some fine lace and jewelry.  The mother and son remained alone together—­Mrs. Brudenell seated upon her favorite back sofa and Herman walking slowly and thoughtfully up and down the whole length of the room.

“Herman,” said the lady.

“Well, mother?”

“I have been thinking about our winter in Washington.  I have been reflecting that myself and your sisters will have no natural protector there.”

“You never had any in Paris or in London, mother, and yet you got on very well.”

“That was a matter of necessity, then; you were a youth at college; we could not have your company; but now you are a young man, and your place, until you marry, is with me and my daughters.  We shall need your escort, dear Herman, and be happier for your company.  I should be very glad if I could induce to accompany us to the city.”