acquainted with all the details of a complex matter; but the gossiping
habit of a quarter of a century was too powerful for Audrey.

In the large parental bedroom the only light was Audrey's candle. Mrs. Moze
was lying on the right half of the great bed, where she had always lain.
She might have lain luxuriously in the middle, with vast spaces at either
hand, but again habit was too powerful.

The girl, all in white, held the candle higher, and the shadows everywhere
shrunk in unison. Mrs. Moze blinked.

"Put the candle on the night-table," said Mrs. Moze curtly.

Audrey did so. The bedroom, for her, was full of the souvenirs of parental
authority. Her first recollections were those of awe in regard to the
bedroom. And when she thought that on that bed she had been born, she had a
very queer sensation.

"I've decided," said Mrs. Moze, lying on her back, and looking up at the
ceiling, "I've decided that your father's wishes must be obeyed."

"What about, mother?"

"About those shares going to the National Reformation Society. He meant
them to go, and they must go to the Society. I've thought it well over and
I've quite decided. I didn't tell Miss Ingate, as it doesn't concern her.
But I felt I must tell you at once."

"Mother!" cried Audrey. "Have you taken leave of your senses?" She
shivered; the room was very cold, and as she shivered her image in the