"Of Mrs. Brent, Sir Harry's mother, it is more difficult to speak. In the light of what I afterwards heard about her, whatever surprised me on my first introduction to her is explained; but I am trying to give you my first impressions. She is good-looking, but it struck me at once in rather a common way. She would be, I suppose, about five and thirty. She was quietly dressed and quiet-spoken; but there was a something. She did not look of Lady Brent's class, and it was something of a surprise to me to see in her the mother of Sir Harry, though in her colouring and facial conformation she undoubtedly resembled him."

At this point Mrs. Grant was aroused by the sounds of violent quarrelling in the little garden below the window at which she was sitting, and looked out to see her son and daughter locked in a close but hostile embrace. She threw up the window and called to them, but they took no notice, and she had to go down to separate them. They were the most charming children, and inseparable companions, but apt to express themselves occasionally in these desperate struggles. When peace had been restored, and they were left amicably planting mustard and cress, she returned to her letter, longing to know more about Mrs. Brent, and especially the reason for her appearance of commonness.

CHAPTER II

LADY BRENT

The explanation came after a description of luncheon in the great hall, which had greatly impressed the writer, with its high timbered roof, oriel window, and carved gallery. Mr. Wilbraham, the tutor, had been added to the company, and was presented as a middle-aged figure, with a somewhat discontented expression of face, but a gift of ready speech which made the meal lively and interesting. He and the two ladies seemed to be on the most excellent terms, and the way in which Lady Brent deferred to the tutor, not treating him in the least as a dependent, but as a valued member of the family circle, had struck the Vicar-elect of Royd most agreeably. "This is a woman," he wrote, "with brains above the ordinary, who takes pleasure in exercising them. Though living a retired life, far from the centres of human intercourse, she takes a lively interest in what is going on in the world. Politics were discussed over the luncheon-table, and I found her views coincided remarkably with my own, and together we gave, I think, a very good account of ourselves in argument with Wilbraham, who professes to be something of a Radical, though I noticed that he ate a very good lunch, and is evidently not averse to sharing in the good things of the class he affects to deride. It was all, however, very good-humoured, and when the talk veered round to books, I found that these good people knew really more about the latest publications than I did myself. Wilbraham is a great reader. He acts as librarian, as well as tutor to Harry, and seems to have carte blanche to order anything down from London that he likes. I imagine that he recommends books to Lady Brent, and she reads a great deal too—not only fiction, but biographies, books of travel, and even stiff works on such subjects as Philosophy.

"Of course I kept very quiet about my own humble productions, as I have never professed to be a scholar, and aim rather at touching the universal human mind, with stories that shall entertain but never degrade, and should not expect to be considered very highly, or perhaps even have been heard of by people of this calibre, though there are many of equal intelligence among my readers. I must confess, however, that I was gratified when Mrs. Brent, who had not taken much part in the conversation, said: 'I have read all your books, Mr. Grant, and think they are lovely. So touching!'

"This is the sort of compliment that I value. It is to the simple mind that I make my appeal, and Mrs. Brent is quite evidently of a lower class of intelligence than those about her. I think I detected some deprecation in the glance that she threw at her mother-in-law immediately after she had expressed herself with this simple, and evidently felt enthusiasm. Perhaps her opinions on literary subjects are not considered very highly, but Lady Brent would be far too well-bred and courteous to snub her. She said at once, very kindly: 'The Bishop told us that you were a novelist, Mr. Grant. Mr. Wilbraham was about to send for your books, but we found that my daughter-in-law had them already. I have not had time more than to dip into one of them, but I promise myself much pleasure from them when I have a little more time.' Wilbraham saved me from the necessity of finding an answer by breaking in at once: 'I don't intend to read a single one of them, either now or hereafter. Let that be plainly understood.' Everybody laughed at this, and it was said in such a way that I felt no offence. This man is evidently something of a character, and I should say had made himself felt in this household of women. The boy likes him too. I could see that by the way they addressed one another. They are more like friends than master and pupil.

"Well, I felt that I had sized up Lady Brent, Wilbraham and young Harry pretty well by the end of the meal, and the conversation that went with it. I have a knack of doing so with people I meet, and find that upon closer acquaintance I have seldom been wrong in my first impressions. Mrs. Brent puzzled me a little more. Was she entirely happy? I thought not, though there was nothing very definite to go upon. If not, it could not be the fault of any of the three other members of the household. She evidently adores her boy, for her face lights up whenever she looks at him, and he treats her with an affection and consideration that are very pleasant to see. Lady Brent treats her in much the same way, and is evidently a woman of much kindness of heart, for Mrs. Brent, as I have already said, is not up to her level, and living in constant companionship with her might be expected to grate a little on the nerves of a lady of her sort. Wilbraham would not be likely to hide any contempt that he might feel for some one of less intelligence than himself. He might not show it openly to the mother of his pupil, but I should certainly have noticed it if it had been there. But he behaved beautifully to her, and smiled when he spoke to her as if he really liked her, and found pleasure in anything that she said. And she seemed grateful, and smiled at him in return. They are in fact a very happy little party, these curiously assorted people who live so much to themselves. And yet, as I said above, the one member of it did not strike me as being entirely happy, and I could not help wondering why.

"Wilbraham enlightened me, as we smoked together after lunch, walking up and down a broad garden path under the April sunshine. 'What do you think of Mrs. Brent?' he asked me, with a side-long whimsical glance that is very characteristic of the man.

"I was a little put out by the suddenness of the question, but took advantage of it to be equally direct and to ask my question. 'Is there anything to make her unhappy?'