'You were foolish about her?' repeated Mrs. Fordyce slowly, and her comely face became rather pale, as she keenly eyed her son's troubled face. 'Does that mean that you were responsible for her disappearance?'

'Well, I suppose I was in the first instance,' he said frankly. 'Of course I was a fool for myself, but a man isn't always responsible, but'—

'Oh, hold your tongue, George Fordyce!' said his mother, her voice sharp with her angry pain. 'Not responsible, indeed! I am quite ashamed of you. It is a most disgraceful thing, and I don't know what your father will say.'

'There is no reason why he should say anything; he needn't be told,' said George a trifle sullenly. 'Of course I regret it, as every man does who makes such a deuced fool of himself. And the girl can't complain; it was more her fault, anyhow.'

'Oh, George, don't be a coward as well as a scoundrel,' said his mother, with more sharpness in her tone than she had ever before used towards her idolised son. 'Don't tell me it is the woman's fault. That is the poor excuse all men make when they get themselves into scrapes. I am very sorry for her, poor thing, and I think I'll go and see her myself.'

George remained silent, standing gloomily at the window, looking on the approach, with its trimly-cut shrubs and spring flowers, blooming in conventional lines. His mother had not received his information quite as he expected, and he felt for the moment utterly 'down on his luck.'

'You have indeed ruined yourself with Gladys, and with any other girl who has any respect for herself,' she said presently, with increased coldness, 'and I must say you richly deserve it.'

So saying, she left the room, and as she went up-stairs, two tears rolled down her cheeks. She was not a woman of very deep feelings, perhaps, but she had received a blow from which it would take her some time to recover. She sat down in her own room, and tried to think out the matter in all its bearings. She felt glad that her husband and daughter were not to dine at home, for after the first shock was over, worldly wisdom began to assert itself, and she pondered upon the best means of avoiding the scandal which appeared inevitable. She was not very hopeful. Had Gladys been an ordinary girl, entertaining less exalted ideas of honour and integrity, everything might have been smoothed over. Women, as a rule, are too lenient towards the follies of men, especially when the offenders are young and handsome; but Gladys was an exception to almost every rule. The only chance lay in the knowledge being kept from her, yet how was that possible, Liz Hepburn being at that very moment an invited guest at Bourhill? She made some little alteration in her dress, and went down, perfectly calm, and outwardly at ease, to a tête-à-tête dinner with her son. When they were left alone at the table she suddenly changed the subject from the commonplace to the engrossing theme occupying both their minds, and, leaning towards him, said quietly,—

'There is only one thing you can do now. It is your only chance, and if it fails, you can only retire gracefully, and accept your congé as your deserts.'

'I don't know what you mean,' he retorted a trifle ungraciously, for in his intense selfishness he had been able to convince himself that his mother had been rather hard upon him.