son, Eustace, until such time as he should marry and take possession of
it himself. There were times when the thought of Eustace marrying and
bringing a strange woman to Windles chilled Mrs. Hignett to her very
marrow. Happily, her firm policy of keeping her son permanently under
her eye at home and never permitting him to have speech with a female
below the age of fifty had averted the peril up till now.

Eustace had accompanied his mother to America. It was his faint snores
which she could hear in the adjoining room, as, having bathed
and dressed, she went down the hall to where breakfast awaited
her. She smiled tolerantly. She had never desired to convert her son to
her own early rising habits, for, apart from not allowing him to call
his soul his own, she was an indulgent mother. Eustace would get up at
half-past nine, long after she had finished breakfast, read her mail,
and started her duties for the day.

Breakfast was on the table in the sitting-room, a modest meal of rolls,
cereal, and imitation coffee. Beside the pot containing this hell-brew
was a little pile of letters. Mrs. Hignett opened them as she ate. The
majority were from disciples and dealt with matters of purely
theosophical interest. There was an invitation from the Butterfly Club
asking her to be the guest of honour at their weekly dinner. There was
a letter from her brother Mallaby--Sir Mallaby Marlowe, the eminent
London lawyer--saying that his son Sam, of whom she had never approved,
would be in New York shortly, passing through on his way back to
England, and hoping that she would see something of him. Altogether a
dull mail. Mrs. Hignett skimmed through it without interest, setting
aside one or two of the letters for Eustace, who acted as her unpaid
secretary, to answer later in the day.