Mrs. Hatton did not always answer these queries satisfactorily.  In fact, she was a little weary of “dear Jane,” and had already praised her beyond her own judgment.  So she was not always as sympathetic to this second appeal for information as she might have been.

“I’ll warrant, John,” she answered a little judicially, “that Jane is at some of the quality houses tonight; and she’ll be singing or dancing or playing bridge with one or other of that pale, rakish lot I see when I drive through the town.”

“Mother!”

“Yes, John, a bad, idle, lounging lot, that don’t do a day’s work to pay for their living.”

“They are likely gentlemen, mother, who have no work to do.”

“Gentlemen!  No, indeed!  I will give them the first four letters of the word—­no more.  They are not gentlemen, but they may be gents.  We don’t expect much from gents, and how the women of today stand them beats me.”

John laughed a little, but he said he was weary and would go to his room.  And as he stood at Mrs. Hatton’s side, telling her that he was glad to be with her again, she found herself in the mood that enabled her to say,

“John, my dear lad, you will soon marry, either Jane or some other woman.  You must do it, you know, for you must have sons and daughters, that you may inherit the promise of God’s blessing which is for you and your children.  Then your family must have a home, but not in Hatton Hall—­not just yet.  There cannot be two mistresses in one house, can there?”

“No, but by my father’s will and his oft-repeated desire, this house is your home, mother, as long as you live.  I am going to build my own house on the hill, facing the east, in front of the Ash plantation.”

“You are wise.  Our chimneys will smoke all the better for being a little apart.”

“And you, my mother, are lady and mistress of Hatton Hall as long as you live.  I will suffer no one to infringe on your rights.”  Then he stooped his handsome head to her lifted face and kissed it with great tenderness; and she turned away with tears in her eyes, but a happy smile on her lips.  And John was glad that this question had been raised and settled, so quickly, and so lovingly.

CHAPTER III

LOVE VENTURES IN

    Man’s life is all a mist, and in the dark
    Our fortunes meet us.

John had been thinking about building his own home for some time and he resolved to begin it at once.  Yet this ancient Hatton Hall, with its large, low rooms, its latticed windows and beautifully carved and polished oak panelings, was very dear to him.  Every room was full of stories of Cavaliers and Puritans.  The early followers of George Fox had there found secret shelter and hospitality.  John Wesley had preached in its great dining-room, and Charles Wesley filled all its spaces and corridors with the lyrical