HOW IT HAPPENED.
"Mother," said Lord Chandos, "I never knew a month pass as this has done—the days have wings. It is the sixteenth to-day, and it does not seem to be twenty-four hours since it was the first."
"That shows, at least, that life has been pleasant to you," said the countess.
"Yes, it has been very pleasant," he replied, and then he sighed deeply.
"Why do you sigh, Lance? The future can be as pleasant as the past, can it not?"
He looked up half impatiently.
"I sigh to think that my share in it is all ended. I must be in England by the end of June."
"Make the most of the time left," said my lady; "there's another week, at least. Let us go everywhere and see everything. In all probability, we shall not meet at Nice again."
He had expected contradiction, he had expected his mother to oppose his desire of returning home, and he was slightly piqued to find that so far from opposing him, she seemed to fall into the idea as though it were the most natural one.
"I think," he pursued, "that if I leave here on the twenty-seventh that will be soon enough."