When Peter found his uncle stretched helplessly in bed with all the ceremony about him of an urgent case, he reproached himself for having thought of him so little during his years of health. He had taken his uncle for granted as the sanguine and gracious benefactor. It had not occurred to him to probe the motives of his uncle\'s affection, or to ask whether he was making him an adequate return.

Now it was too late. When Peter arrived in Hamingburgh his uncle was already unconscious, and he did not recover sufficiently to recognise his nephew. A sudden seizure ended with a rush of blood to the brain; and Peter was left heir to a personal estate of over ￡90,000. Peter had to be content with his mother\'s assurance that his uncle died with entire faith in his nephew\'s ability to spend a fortune.

The next weeks passed in ending all connection with Hamingburgh, which Peter now found intolerable, and in preparing for life in London commensurate with his new ideas. He took rooms for himself and his mother in Curzon Street, to be made ready for the autumn season.

"We will have everything very beautiful, and we will have only what is necessary," he told his[Pg 217] mother as they talked things over in their flat at Golder\'s Green. "Of course we must sell all this stuff."

He waved his hands in an inclusive gesture toward the chairs and tables. Mrs. Paragon mildly looked about her.

"But, Peter, I thought you liked all this pretty furniture."

"It\'s modern," said Peter briefly. "There is no such thing as modern furniture. Ask Marbury."

He came and sat on the arm of his mother\'s chair.

"I must get Marbury to help. I want to see you talking to Lady Mary over a tea-table by the Brother\'s Adam."

"Peter, this is the third time to-day you have mentioned Lord Marbury\'s sister."

"Naturally, mother. This is polling day at Highbury. I\'ve been wondering how things are going."

A few days later Marbury came to town and took his seat as member for Sandhaven. Peter secured him for the following evening, and they all three dined together at the flat in Golder\'s Green. Marbury was called upon for advice as to Curzon Street.

"Peter," he said, "this is a new phase. Don\'t encourage him, Mrs. Paragon. He wasn\'t intended for an exquisite. He\'s too robust."

"He does not need encouraging," said Mrs.[Pg 218] Paragon. She had calmly accepted Peter\'s new enthusiasm, and now only wondered how long it would endure.

"Peter has already sold all our furniture," she added by way of information. "It will disappear at the end of the week."

"What are you going to do in the meantime?" asked Marbury, exchanging an intelligible smile with Mrs. Paragon.

Mrs. Paragon quietly answered him, unaware of the irony which lurked in her undisturbed acceptance of the inevitable.

"Peter says that no one stays in London during these next months. He says we must go to the North of Scotland."

"What are you going to do there?" asked Marbury.

"Peter is going to fish," said Mrs. Paragon.

When the time came Mrs. Paragon discovered that her part in the holiday in North Britain was to attend Peter during long happy days in lonely places where Peter mysteriously dangled in lakes and rivers. She dreamed away the time beside the basket of food and shared with Peter pleasant meals under the sky, quickened with his lively account of the morning\'s work.

News came once into their wilderness when Eustace Haversham died. In the letters Peter exchanged with Marbury and his sister he learned that the end had come at the close of a happy day[Pg 219] in the sun, with people arriving and departing upon the terrace at Highbury. Haversham had smilingly received the congratulations of his friends upon his better health; then, with a look in his eyes showing that he at any rate knew better, he had died as the light fell from the bronze figure fronting the moor.

In long hours upon loch and river Peter sometimes thought of Lady Mary and their last meeting. He thought of her less as a woman than a lovely symbol of the life he was now called to lead. She stood in his eye, radiant and proud, thrown into relief by a mutter of poverty and ill-will. She was for Peter the supreme achievement of the time. The cool touch of her hand on his lips raised in him no remembered rapture. It had been not a personal caress but an act of worship, for which he could imagine no other possible expression. She charmed him, and made him afraid. The delicate play of her mind was intimately enjoyed by Peter in retrospect when he was able to realise the indulgence with which she had met his blundering.

Peter remembered his father and his years of revolt without misgiving for the way he now seemed to be taking. These memories enforced him towards all for which Lady Mary now stood. He so clearly had been wrong.

Early in September Peter and his mother returned to London. Peter, fearing to be bantered,[Pg 220] furnished the rooms in Curzon Street without advice. The season was just beginning when they took possession.

Peter soon read in the fashionable intelligence that Lord Haversham—Marbury had shed the younger title—had come to town for the autumn session. He also saw that Wenderby had been staying at Highbury as the guest of Lady Mary and her brother. This displeased Peter. He would not surrender his animosity against Wenderby, or admit that he was mistaken. He owed this to himself in justification of his outbreak during the election. Now that he read Wenderby\'s name beside the name of Lady Mary, Peter was surprised to find how much he distrusted the man. He threw down the paper in a small passion.

"Why, Peter," said Mrs. Paragon, "what\'s the matter?"

"Nothing, mother."

Mrs. Paragon tried another way of approach.

"What\'s the news this morning?" she lightly inquired.

"Lord Haversham has come to town."

"With Lady Mary?" Mrs. Paragon quickly asked.

"Yes," said Peter. "Also with Lord Wenderby." He kicked the newspaper and went to the window.

"I see," said Peter\'s mother.

Perhaps Mrs. Par............