“Now, Austin,” began Aunt Charlotte, warningly.

“Oh, you needn’t be afraid,” laughed St Aubyn; “Austin’s heresies are no novelty to me.  And a heresy, you must recollect, has always some forgotten truth at the bottom of it.”

“I’m sure I hope so,” replied Aunt Charlotte.  “But the wind’s getting a trifle chilly, and I think it’s about time for tea.  Austin isn’t very strong just now, and mustn’t run any risks.”

So they went indoors and had their tea in the drawing-room, when St Aubyn let fall the information that he was starting in a few days for a short tour in Italy.  It would not be long, however, before he was back, and then of course he should look forward to seeing a great deal of Austin at the Court.  Then Aunt Charlotte had to promise that she would honour the Court with a visit too; whereupon Austin launched out into a most glowing and picturesque description of the orchid-houses, and the pool of water-lilies, and the tapestry in the Banqueting Hall, being extremely curious to know whether his prosaic relative would experience any of those queer sensations that had so greatly impressed himself.  This suggested a reference to Lady Merthyr Tydvil, who had taken so great an interest in Austin when last he had been at the Court; and here Aunt Charlotte chimed in, being naturally anxious to hear all about the wonderful old lady who had known Austin’s father so well in years gone by, and remembered his mother too.  Of course St Aubyn said, as in duty bound, that he hoped the countess would have the pleasure of meeting Austin’s aunt some day under his own roof, and Aunt Charlotte acknowledged the courtesy in fitting terms.

So the visit was quite a success, and Austin felt much more at his ease now that he could talk to his aunt about St Aubyn as one whom they both knew.  She, on her side, was delighted with her new acquaintance, particularly as he seemed quite familiar with Austin’s ethical and intellectual eccentricities, and did not seem horrified at them in the very least.  The only thing that disturbed her just a little was the state of the boy’s health.  His spirits were as good as ever, and he seemed quite indifferent to the fact that he was not robust and hale; but there could be no doubt that he was paler and more fragile than he ought to have been, and the uneasiness he was fain to acknowledge in his hip and back worried her not a little—­more, in fact, a great deal than it worried Austin himself.

The truth was that his attention was taken up with something wholly different.  The allusions to his unknown mother that had been made by Lady Merthyr Tydvil, and the cropping-up of the same subject during St Aubyn’s visit, had somehow connected themselves in his mind with the mysterious appearance of the strange lady at the garden gate on the evening of the tea-party at the vicarage.  Lady Merthyr Tydvil had recognised a strong resemblance between his mother as she had known her and himself, and he had noticed