"Your mother keeps well?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. I suppose you know that she has married again?"

I am afraid I showed my surprise rather plainly. Mrs. Cavendish,
who had married John's father when he was a widower with two
sons, had been a handsome woman of middle-age as I remembered
her. She certainly could not be a day less than seventy now. I
recalled her as an energetic, autocratic personality, somewhat
inclined to charitable and social notoriety, with a fondness for
opening bazaars and playing the Lady Bountiful. She was a most
generous woman, and possessed a considerable fortune of her own.

Their country-place, Styles Court, had been purchased by Mr.
Cavendish early in their married life. He had been completely
under his wife's ascendancy, so much so that, on dying, he left
the place to her for her lifetime, as well as the larger part of
his income; an arrangement that was distinctly unfair to his two
sons. Their step-mother, however, had always been most generous
to them; indeed, they were so young at the time of their father's
remarriage that they always thought of her as their own mother.

Lawrence, the younger, had been a delicate youth. He had
qualified as a doctor but early relinquished the profession of
medicine, and lived at home while pursuing literary ambitions;
though his verses never had any marked success.

John practiced for some time as a barrister, but had finally
settled down to the more congenial life of a country squire. He
had married two years ago, and had taken his wife to live at