“Certainly not.  But I observed her.  Restless and listless by turns—­her body in one place, her mind in another.  She was so taken up with her own thoughts she could not follow the service.  I saw the poor girl try very hard several times, but at last she gave it up in despair.  Sometimes she knitted her brow and a young girl seldom does that unless she is thwarted in her love.  And I’ll tell you a surer sign still:  sometimes tears came for no visible reason, and stood in her eyes.  She is in love; and it can not be with Mr. Coventry of Bollinghope; for, if she loved him, she would have nothing to brood on but her wedding-dress; and they never knit their brows, nor bedew their eyes, thinking of that; that’s a smiling subject.  No, it is true love on both sides, I do believe; and that makes my woman’s heart yearn.  Harry, dear, I’ll make you a confession.  You have heard that a mother’s love is purer and more unselfish than any other love:  and so it is.  But even mothers are not quite angels always.  Sometimes they are just a little jealous:  not, I think, where they are blessed with many children; but you are my one child, my playmate, my companion, my friend, my only love.  That sweet girl has come, and I must be dethroned.  I felt this, and—­no, nothing could ever make me downright thwart your happiness; but a mother’s jealousy made me passive, where I might have assisted you if I had been all a mother should be.”

“No, no, mother; I am the one to blame.  You see, it looked so hopeless at first, I used to be ashamed to talk freely to you.  It’s only of late I have opened my heart to you as I ought.”

“Well, dear, I am glad you think the blame is not all with me.  But what I see is my own fault, and mean to correct it.  She gave you good advice, dear—­to consult your mother.  But you shall have my assistance as well; and I shall begin at once, like a zealous ally.  When I say at once—­this is Sunday—­I shall begin to-morrow at one o’clock.”

Then Henry sat down at her knee, and took her white hand in his brown ones.

“And what shall you do at one o’clock, my beautiful mother?”

“I shall return to society.”

CHAPTER XXII.

Next morning Mrs. Little gave her son the benefit of her night’s reflections.

“You must let me have some money—­all you can spare from your business; and whilst I am doing something with it for you, you must go to London, and do exactly what I tell you to do.”

“Exactly?  Then please write it down.”

“A very good plan.  Can you go by the express this morning?”

“Why, yes, I could; only then I must run down to the works this minute and speak to the foreman.”

“Well, dear, when you come back, your instructions shall be written, and your bag packed.”

“I say, mother, you are going into it in earnest.  All the better for me.”

At twelve he started for London, with a beautiful set of carving-tools in his bag, and his mother’s instructions in his pocket:  those instructions sent him to a fashionable tailor that very afternoon.  With some difficulty he prevailed on this worthy to make him a dress-suit in twenty-four hours.  Next day he introduced himself to the London trade, showed his carving-tools, and, after a hard day’s work, succeeded in obtaining several orders.