like you, Lisa."

"I am not afraid. She will be civil. She is like
Chesterfield. `Even death cannot kill the courtesy in
her.' You don't seem to know the woman, George. Come."

But George hung back and loitered among the trees. He
was an honest fellow, though slow of wit; he loved his
mother and was penetrated to the quick just now by a
passionate fondness for his wife. Two such good, clever
women! Why couldn't they hit it off together?

"George?" said Frances, hearing his steps.

Lisa came up to her. She rose, and smiled to her son's
wife, and after a moment held out her hand.

But the courtesy which Lisa had expected suddenly enraged
her. "No! There need be no pretence between us," she
said. "You are not glad to see me. There is no pretence
in me. I am honest. I did not come here to make
compliments, but to talk business."

"George said to-morrow. Can it not wait until
to-morrow?"

"No. What is to do--do it! That is my motto. George,
come here! Tell your mother what we have decided. Oh,
very well, if you prefer that I should speak. We go to
Paris at once, Mrs. Waldeaux, and will take apartments