black gown, stood and looked at him. His careless words of explanation
died away upon his lips. The fire which flashed from her hollow eyes
seemed to wither up the very sources of speech within him. The half
lights were kind to her. He saw nothing of the hollow cheeks. The
weariness of her pose and manner had passed like magic away. She stood
there, erect as a dart, her head thrown back, a curious mixture of scorn,
of loathing, and of fear in her expression. She looked at him steadily,
and he felt his cheeks burn. He was ashamed--ashamed of himself, ashamed
of his errand.

"Your mother," he said, struggling to look away from her, "is--a little
unwell. The heat of the room--"

She swept down the steps and passed him. Before he could reach her side
she was tugging at the handle of the carriage door.

"Mother," she cried, through the window, "undo the door!"

But Mrs. Phillimore made no answer. When at last the door was opened she
was discovered half asleep in a corner. Her hair was in some disorder,
and her cheeks no longer preserved that even colouring which is a result
of the artistic use of the rouge-pot. Her head was thrown back, and she
was apparently asleep. Hester stifled a sob. She took her mother by the
arm, and shook her.

Mrs. Phillimore sat up and smiled a sleepy smile. She made a few
incoherent remarks. They helped her into the house and into an
easy-chair, where she promptly turned her face towards the cushions and
resumed her slumber. Sir Leslie moved towards the door, then hesitated.