In the earliest days of April when spring was making the world fresh and lovely and filling the balmy air with song, John thought of the home for himself that he would build and he determined to see the man who was to dig the foundation that night.  He had just received a letter from Jane, and she said she was weary of London, and longing to be with her dear mother at Harlow House, or indeed anywhere that would allow her to see him every day.  A very little kindness went a long way with John and such words lying near his heart made him wonderfully happy.  And because he was happy he was exceedingly busy.  Even Greenwood did not trouble him with observations; and official conversation was reduced to monosyllables.  People came in and left papers and went out without a word; and there was a pressure on John to “do whatsoever his hand found to do with all his might.”

Suddenly the door was flung open with unrestricted force and noise and John raised his head to reprove the offender.  Instead of this, he rose from his chair and with open arms took his brother to his heart.  “Why, Harry!” he cried.  “Mother will be glad to see you.  I was thinking of you while I dressed myself this morning.  When did you reach England?”

“I got to London three days ago.”

“Never!  I wouldn’t tell mother that!  She will think you ought to have been at Hatton three days ago.”

“I had to look after Lucy, first thing.  I found her, John, in Bradford in a sad state.”

“I don’t understand you, Harry.”

“Her father had left her with a very strict aunt, and she was made to do things she never had done—­work about the house, you know—­and she looked ill and sorrowful and my heart ached for her.  Her father was away from her, and she thought I had forgotten her.  The dear little woman!  I married her the next day.”

“Henry Hatton!  What are you saying?”

“I married there and then, as it were.  It was my duty to do so.”

“It was your will.  There was no duty in it.”

“Call it what you like, John.  She is now my wife and I expect you and mother will remember this.”

“You are asking too much of mother.”

“You said you would stand by me in this matter.”

“I thought you would behave with some consideration for others.  Is it right for you to expect mother to take an entire stranger into her home, a girl for whom she had no liking?  Why should mother do this?”

“Because I love the girl.”

“You are shamelessly selfish, and a girl who could make a mother’s love for you a pretext for entering Hatton Hall as her right is not a nice girl.”

“Lucy has done nothing of the kind.  She is satisfied in the hotel.  Do you want me to stay at the hotel?”

“I should feel very much hurt if you did.”

“But I shall stay where my wife stays.”

“You had better go and see mother.  What she does I will second.”