Then she ran across the passage to her mother's sitting-room. Lady Coryston
had complained of illness during the day and had not been down-stairs. But
Marcia's experience was that when her mother was ill she was not less, but
more active than usual, and that withdrawal to her sitting-room generally
meant a concentration of energy.

Lady Coryston was sitting with a writing-board on her knee, and a
reading-lamp beside her, lighting a table covered with correspondence.
Within her reach was a deep cupboard in the wall containing estate and
business letters, elaborately labeled and subdivided. A revolving bookcase
near carried a number of books of reference, and at her elbow, with the
paper-knife inside it, lay a copy of the _Quarterly Review_. The walls
of the room were covered with books--a fine collection of county histories,
and a large number of historical memoirs and biographies. In a corner,
specially lit, a large bust of the late Lord Coryston conveyed to a younger
generation the troubled, interrogative look which in later life had been
the normal look of the original. His portrait by Holl hung over the
mantelpiece, flanked on either side by water-color pictures of his sons and
daughter in their childhood.

There was only one comfortable chair in the room, and Lady Coryston never
sat in it. She objected to flowers as being in the way; and there was not
a sign anywhere of the photographs and small knick-knacks which generally
belitter a woman's sitting--room. Altogether, an ugly room, but
characteristic, businesslike, and not without a dignity of its own.

"Mother!--why don't you rest a little?" cried Marcia, eying the black-robed
figure and the long pale face, marked by very evident fatigue. "You've been
writing letters or seeing people all day. How long did James stay?"