If a woman absolutely worships a man, even if she is only his mother, she is bound to spend many moments of unhappiness, and Lady Bracondale was no exception to the general rule.  Hector had always gone his own way, and there were several aspects of his life she disapproved of.  These visits to Paris—­his antipathy to matrimony—­his boredom with girls—­such nice girls she knew, too, and had often thrown him with!—­his delight in big-game shooting in alarming and impossible countries—­and, above all, his absolute indifference to Morella Winmarleigh, the only woman who really and truly in her heart of hearts Lady Bracondale thought worthy of him, although she would have accepted several other girls as choosing the lesser evil to bachelorhood.  But Morella Winmarleigh was perfection!  She owned the enormous property adjoining Bracondale; she was twenty-six years old, of unblemished reputation, nice looking, and not—­not one of those modern women who are bound to cause anxieties.  Under any circumstances one could count upon Morella Winmarleigh behaving with absolute propriety.  A girl born to be a mother-in-law’s joy.

But Hector persistently remained at large.  It was not that he openly defied his mother—­he simply made love to her whenever they were together, twisted her round his finger, and was off again.

“To see mother with Hector,” Lady Annigford said, “is a wonderful sight.  Although I adore him myself, I am not at the stage she is!  She sits there beaming on him exactly like an exceedingly proud and fond cat with new kittens.  He treats her as if she were a young and beautiful woman, caresses her, pets her, pays not the least attention to anything she says, and does absolutely what he pleases!”

Hector and Lady Bracondale together had often made the women who were in love with him jealous.

When she had finished her letter the stately lady read it over carefully—­she had a certain tact, and Hector must be cajoled to return, not irritated.  Monica’s epistle, in spite of that touch of vulgarity which she had deplored, had held out some grains of comfort.  She had been getting really anxious over this affair with the—­French person.  Even to herself Lady Bracondale would not use any of the terms which usually designate ladies of the type of Esclarmonde de Chartres.

Since her brother-in-law Evermond had returned from Monte Carlo bringing that disturbing story of the diamond chain, she had been on thorns—­of such a light mind and always so full of worldly gossip, Evermond!

Hector had gone from Monte Carlo to Venice, and then to Paris, where he had been for more than a month, and she had heard that men could become quite infatuated and absolutely ruined by these creatures.  So for him to have taken a fancy to a married American was considerably better than that.  She had met several members of this nation herself in England, and were they not always very discreet, with well-balanced heads!