But, meantime, Mrs. Little’s mind had not been idle.  She had long divined a young rival in her son’s heart, and many a little pang of jealousy had traversed her own.  This morning, with a quickness which may seem remarkable to those who have not observed the watchful keenness of maternal love, she had seen that her rival had worked upon Henry to resign his declared intention of leaving Hillsborough.  Then she felt her way, and, in a moment, she had found the younger woman was the stronger.

She assumed as a matter of course, that this girl was in love with Henry (who would not be in love with him?), and had hung, weeping, round his neck, when he called from Cairnhope to bid her farewell, and had made him promise to stay.  This was the mother’s theory; wrong, but rational.

Then came the question, What should she do?  Fight against youth and nature?  Fight, unlikely to succeed, sure to irritate and disturb.  Risk any of that rare affection and confidence her son had always given her?

While her thoughts ran this way, seven o’clock came, and no Henry.  Eight o’clock, and no Henry.  “Ah!” thought the mother, “that one word of mine has had this effect already.”

She prepared an exquisite little supper.  She made her own toilet with particular care; and, when all was ready, she sat down and comforted herself by reading his letters, and comparing his love with the cavalier behavior of so many sons in this island, the most unfilial country in Europe.

At half past ten Henry came up the stairs, not with the usual light elastic tread, but with slow, hesitating foot.  Her quick ear caught that too, and her gentle bosom yearned.  What, had she frightened him?  He opened the door, and she rose to receive him all smiles.  “You are rather late, dear,” she said; “but all the better.  It has given me an excuse for reading your dear letters all over again; and I have a thousand questions to ask you about Cairnhope.  But sit down first, and have your supper.”

Henry brightened up, and ate a good supper, and his mother plied him with questions, all about Cairnhope.

Here was an unexpected relief.  Henry took a superficial view of all this.  Sharp young men of twenty-four understand a great many things; but they can’t quite measure their mothers yet.

Henry was selfishly pleased, but not ungrateful, and they passed a pleasant and affectionate time:  and, as for leaving Hillsborough, the topic was avoided by tacit consent.

Next morning, after this easy victory, Henry took a cab and got to “Woodbine Villa” by a circuitous route.  His heart beat high as he entered the room where Grace was seated.  After the extraordinary warmth and familiarity she had shown him at the last interview, he took for granted he had made a lasting progress in her regard.

But she received him with a cold and distant manner, that quite benumbed him.  Grace Carden’s face and manner were so much more expressive than other people’s, that you would never mistake or doubt the mood she was in; and this morning she was freezing.