His mother suddenly laid her hand upon his arm.

“Who is that lovely woman who has just come in with Maurice?” she exclaimed.

Her son followed the direction of her eyes, and beheld Vera standing in the doorway that led from the conservatory by his brother’s side.

Without a word he passed his mother’s hand through his arm and led her across the room.

“Vera, this is my mother,” he said.  And Lady Kynaston owned afterwards that she never felt so taken aback and so utterly struck dumb with astonishment in her life.

Her two sons looked at her with amusement and some triumph.  The little surprise had been so thoroughly carried out; the contrast of the truth to what they knew she had expected was too good a joke not to be enjoyed.

“Not much what you expected, little mother, is it?” said Maurice, laughingly.  But to Vera, who knew nothing, it was no laughing matter.

She put both her hands out tremblingly and hesitatingly—­with a pretty pleading look of deprecating deference in her eyes—­and the little old lady, who valued beauty and grace and talent so much that she could barely tolerate goodness itself without them, was melted at once.

“My dear,” she said, “you are beautiful, and I am going to love you; but these naughty boys made me think you were something like little Miss Smiles.”

“Nay, mother, it was your own diseased imagination,” laughed Maurice; “but come, Vera, I am not going to be cheated of this waltz—­if John does not want you to dance with him, that is to say.”

John nodded pleasantly to them, and the two whirled away together into the midst of the throng of dancers.

“Well, mother?”

“My dear, she is a very beautiful creature, and I have been a silly, prejudiced old woman.”

“And you forgive her for being poor, and for living in a vicarage instead of a castle?”

“She would be a queen if she were a beggar and lived in a mud hovel!” answered his mother, heartily, and Sir John was satisfied.

Lady Kynaston’s eyes were following the couple as they danced:  for all her admiration and her enthusiasm, there was a little anxiety in their gaze.  She had not forgotten the little picture she had caught a glimpse of in the conservatory, nor had her woman’s eyes failed to notice that Vera’s dress was trimmed with peacock’s feathers.

Where was Helen?  Lady Kynaston said to herself; and why was Maurice devoting himself to his future sister-in-law instead of to her?

Mrs. Romer, you may be sure, had not been far off.  Her sharp eyes had seen Vera and Maurice disappear together into the conservatory.  She could have told to a second how long they had remained there; and again, when they came out, she had watched the little family scene that had taken place at the door.  She had seen the look of delighted surprise on Lady Kynaston’s face; she had noted how pleased and how proud of Vera the brothers had looked, and then how happily Maurice and Vera had gone off again together.