which they do not understand. She could scarcely fear Jem, so she
persuaded herself that he was stupid and unattractive. At this time there
came another influence to militate against any excess of love between Jem
and his stepmother. It came to her, for he was ignorant of it. And this
was the knowledge that before long the little heir's undisputed reign in
the nursery would come to an end.

With a suburban horror of being a long distance from the chemist, Mrs.
Agar protested that she could not possibly remain at Stagholme during the
ensuing winter, and that her child must be born at Clapham. It was vain
to argue or reason, and at last the Squire was forced to swallow this
second humiliation, which was quite beyond his wife's comprehension. He
only dared to hint that all the Agars had seen the light at Stagholme
since time immemorial; but feelings of this description found no
answering note in her practical and essentially commonplace mind. So Mr.
And Mrs. Agar emigrated to Clapham, leaving Jem behind them.

It happened that a few days after their arrival at the stately house
overlooking the Common, a young officer called to see Mr. Hethbridge,
who was at that time one of the Directors of the East India Company.
Now it furthermore happened that this young soldier was he whom we last
saw smoking a cheroot in the doorway of Seymour Michael's bungalow in
India. As chance would have it, he called in the evening, and the
estimable Mr. Hethbridge, warmed into an unusual hospitality by the
fumes of his own port wine, pressed him to pass into the drawing-room and
take a dish of tea with the ladies. The subaltern accepted, chiefly
because it was the Director's self that pressed, and presently followed
that short-winded gentleman into the drawing-room--thereby shaping lives
yet uncreated--thereby unconsciously helping to work out a chain of
events leading ultimately to an end which no man could foresee.