They had been married nearly five weeks.  Anne had not seen the children for several months.  The little child, Edward, had shown symptoms of delicacy, and for nearly a year the children had sojourned at the seaside, having been brought to the town-house just before their father’s marriage.

The nursery was empty, and Lord Hartledon went down.  In the passage outside the drawing-room was Hedges, evidently waiting for his master, and with a budget to unfold.

“When did she come, Hedges?”

“My lord, it was only a few days after your marriage,” replied Hedges.  “She arrived in the most outrageous tantrum—­if I shall not offend your lordship by saying so—­and has been here ever since, completely upsetting everything.”

“What was her tantrum about?”

“On account of your having married again, my lord.  She stood in the hall for five minutes when she got here, saying the most audacious things against your lordship and Miss Ashton—­I mean my lady,” corrected Hedges.

“The old hag!” muttered Lord Hartledon.

“I think she’s insane at times, my lord; I really do.  The fits of passion she flies into are quite bad enough for insanity.  The housekeeper told me this morning she feared she would be capable of striking my lady, when she first saw her.  I’m afraid, too, she has been schooling the children.”

Lord Hartledon strode into the drawing-room.  There, as large as life—­and a great deal larger than most lives—­was the dowager-countess.  Fortunately she had not heard the arrival:  in fact, she had dropped into a doze whilst waiting for it; and she started up when Val entered.

“How are you, ma’am?” asked he.  “You have taken me by surprise.”

“Not half as much as your wicked letter took me,” screamed the old dowager.  “Oh, you vile man! to marry again in this haste!  You—­you—­I can’t find words that I should not be ashamed of; but Hamlet’s mother, in the play, was nothing to it.”

“It is some time since I read the play,” returned Hartledon, controlling his temper under an assumption of indifference.  “If my memory serves me, the ‘funeral baked meats did coldly furnish forth the marriage table.’ My late wife has been dead eighteen months, Lady Kirton.”

“Eighteen months! for such a wife as Maude was to you!” raved the dowager.  “You ought to have mourned her eighteen years.  Anybody else would.  I wish I had never let you have her.”

Lord Hartledon wished it likewise, with all his heart and soul; had wished it in his wife’s lifetime.

“Lady Kirton, listen to me!  Let us understand each other.  Your visit here is ill-timed; you ought to feel it so; nevertheless, if you stay it out, you must observe good manners.  I shall be compelled to request you to terminate it if you fail one iota in the respect due to this house’s mistress, my beloved and honoured wife.”

“Your beloved wife!  Do you dare to say it to me?”