He took her up, and carried her to his wife, placing her upon her knee.  “Maude,” he whispered, “this is your mamma, and you must love her very much, for she loves you.”

Anne’s arms fondly encircled the child; but she began to struggle to get down.

“Bad manners, Maude,” said her father.

“She’s afraid of her,” spoke up the boy, who had the dark eyes and beautiful features of his late mother.  “We are afraid of bad people.”

The observation passed momentarily unnoticed, for Maude, whom Lady Hartledon had been obliged to release, would not be pacified.  But when calmness ensued, Lord Hartledon turned to the boy, just then assisting himself to some pineapple.

“What did I hear you say about bad people, Edward?”

“She,” answered the boy, pointing towards Lady Hartledon.  “She shan’t touch Maude.  She’s come here to beat us, and I’ll kick if she touches me.”

Lord Hartledon, with an unmistakable look at the countess-dowager, rose from his seat in silence and rang the bell.  There could be no correction in the presence of the dowager; he and Anne must undo her work alone.  Carrying the little girl in one arm, he took the boy’s hand, and met the servant at the door.

“Take these children back to the nursery.”

“I want some strawberries,” the boy called out rebelliously.

“Not to-day,” said his father.  “You know quite well that you have behaved badly.”

His wife’s face was painfully flushed.  Mr. Carr was critically examining the painted landscape on his plate; and the turban was enjoying some fruit with perfect unconcern.  Lord Hartledon stood an instant ere he resumed his seat.

“Anne,” he said in a voice that trembled in spite of its displeased tones, “allow me to beg your pardon, and I do it with shame that this gratuitous insult should have been offered you in your own house.  A day or two will, I hope, put matters on their right footing; the poor children, as you see, have been tutored.”

“Are you going to keep the port by you all night, Hartledon?”

Need you ask from whom came the interruption?  Mr. Carr passed it across to her, leaving her to help herself; and Lord Hartledon sat down, biting his delicate lips.

When the dowager seemed to have finished, Anne rose.  Mr. Carr rose too as soon as they had retired.

“I have an engagement, Hartledon, and am obliged to run away.  Make my adieu to your wife.”

“Carr, is it not a crying shame?—­enough to incense any man?”

“It is.  The sooner you get rid of her the better.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

When Lord Hartledon reached the drawing-room, the dowager was sleeping comfortably.  Looking about for his wife, he found her in the small room Maude used to make exclusively her own, which was not lighted up.  She was standing at the window, and her tears were quietly falling.  He drew her face to his own.