was a hard, selfish, grasping woman."

Although Shafto and his mother lived under the same roof, she,
figuratively, sat with folded hands as far as he was concerned; it was
kindly Mrs. Malone who looked after his little comforts, saw that his
socks were mended, and made him a hot drink when he had a heavy cold.
Also, as a special honour, she invited him to her "den," gave him a cup
of coffee, or a glass of port, and talked to him of her Irish home and
her young days. Once upon a time she had been a capital horsewoman,
and it was strange to hear this old lady and the bright-eyed youth
comparing notable runs.

One day in the Strand at luncheon hour, Shafto came face to face with
his old friend Geoffrey Tremenheere, looking bronzed, splendidly fit,
and independent as a prince.

"Hallo, Douglas!" he exclaimed. "Well, if this isn't a piece of luck!
How are you, old man?"

"AH right--and you?"

"I arrived from India yesterday and go up to Scotland to-night--the
family are all on the moors. I've just been looking for a pair of
guns. Come and give your opinion, and then we will lunch. I'm
stopping at the Grand."

"I'd like to awfully, I need not tell you, Geoff, but I've got to be
back at 1.15 sharp--it's mail day."

"Oh, hang mail day! Come along and lunch--and let us have a good old