Frances　looked　after　him　steadily。　　〃Oh；　well！〃　she　said　to　herself　presently。
  She　forced　her　mind　back　to　the　Quarterly　article。　　It　was　a　beginning　of　just　the　kind　of　triumph　that　she　always　had　expected　for　him。　　He　would　soon　be　recognized　by　scientific　men　all　over　the　world　as　their　confrere；　especially　after　his　year's　study　at　Oxford。
  When　George　was　in　his　cradle　she　had　planned　that　he　should　be　a　clergyman；　just　as　she　had　planned　that　he　should　be　a　well…bred　man；　and　she　had　fitted　him　for　both　roles　in　life；　and　urged　him　into　them　by　the　same　unceasing　soft　pats　and　pushes。　　She　would　be　delighted　when　she　saw　him　in　white　robes　serving　at　the　altar。
  Not　that　Frances　had　ever　taken　her　religion　quite　seriously。　　It　was　like　her　gowns；　or　her　education；　a　matter　of　course；　a　trustworthy；　agreeable　part　of　her。　　She　had　never　once　in　her　life　shuddered　at　a　glimpse　of　any　vice　in　herself；　or　cried　to　God　in　agony；　even　to　grant　her　a　wish。
  But　she　knew　that　Robert　Waldeaux's　son　would　be　safer　in　the　pulpit。　　He　could　take　rank　with　scholars　there；　too。
  She　inspected　him　now　anxiously；　trying　to　see　him　with　the　eyes　of　these　Oxford　magnates。　　Nobody　would　guess　that　he　was　only　twenty…two。　　The　bald　spot　on　his　crown　and　the　spectacles　gave　him　a　scholastic　air；　and　the　finely　cut　features　and　a　cold　aloofness　in　his　manner　spoke　plainly；　she　thought；　of　his　good　descent　and　high　pursuits。
  Frances　herself　had　a　drop　of　vagabond　blood　which　found　comrades　for　her　among　every　class　and　color。　　But　there　was　not　an　atom　of　the　tramp　in　her　son's　well…built　and　fashionably　clothed　body。　　He　never　had　had　a　single　intimate　friend　even　when　he　was　a　boy。　　He　will　probably　find　his　companions　among　the　great　English　scholars；〃　she　thought　complacently。　　Of　course　she　would　always　be　his　only　comrade；　his　chum。　　She　continually　met　and　parted　with　thousands　of　peoplethey　came　and　went。　　〃But　George　and　I　will　be　together　for　all　time；〃　she　told　herself。
  He　came　up　presently　and　sat　down　beside　her；　with　an　anxious；　apologetic　air。　　It　hurt　him　to　think　that　he　had　laughed　at　her。　　〃That　dark　haze　is　the　Jersey　shore；〃　he　said。　　〃How　dim　it　grows！　　Well；　we　are　really　out　now　in　the　big　world！　　It　is　so　good　to　be　alone　there　with　you；〃　he　added；　touching　her　arm　affectionately。　　〃Those　cynical　old…men…boys　at　Harvard　bored　me。〃
  〃I　don't　bore　you；　then；　George？〃
  〃You！〃　　He　was　very　anxious　to　make　her　forget　his　roughness。　　〃Apart　from　my　affection　for　you；　mother；〃　he　said　judicially；　〃I　LIKE　you。　　I　approve　of　you　as　I　never　probably　shall　approve　of　another　woman。　　Your　peculiaritiesthe　way　your　brown　hair　ripples　back　into　that　knot　〃surveying　her　critically。　　〃And　the　way　you　always　look　as　if　you　had　just　come　out　of　a　bath；　even　on　a　grimy　train；　and　your　gowns；　so　simpleand　rich。　　I　confess；〃　he　said　gravely；　〃I　can't　always　follow　your　unsteady　little　ideas　when　you　talk。　　They　frisk　about　so。　　It　is　the　difference　probably　between　the　man's　mind　and　the　woman's。　　Besides；　we　have　been　separated　for　so　many　years！　　But　I　soon　will　understand　you。　　I　know　that　while　you　keep　yourself　apart　from　all　the　world　you　open　your　heart　to　me。〃
  〃Wrap　the　rug　about　my　feet；　George；〃　she　said　hastily；　and　then　sent　him　away　upon　an　errand；　looking　after　him　uneasily。
  It　was　very　pleasant　to　hear　her　boy　thus　formally　sum　up　his　opinion　of　her。　　But　when　he　found　that　it　was　based　upon　a　lie？
  For　Frances；　candid　enough　to　the　world；　had　deceived　her　son　ever　since　he　was　born。
  George　had　always　believed　that　she　had　inherited　a　fortune　from　his　father。　　It　gave　solidity　and　comfort　to　his　life　to　think　of　her　in　the　stately　old　mansion　on　the　shores　of　Delaware　Bay；　with　nothing　to　do　except　to　be　beautiful　and　gracious；　as　befitted　a　well…born　woman。　　It　pleased　him；　in　a　lofty；　generous　way；　that　his　father　（whom　she　had　taught　him　to　reverence　as　the　most　chivalric　of　gentlemen）　had　left　him　wholly　dependent　upon　her。　　It　was　a　legal　fiction；　of　course。　　He　was　the　heirthe　crown　prince。　　He　had　always　been　liberally　supplied　with　money　at　school　and　at　Harvard。　　Her　income　was　large。　　No　doubt　the　dear　soul　mismanaged　the　estates　fearfully；　but　now　he　would　have　leisure　to　take　care　of　them。
  Now；　the　fact　was　that　Colonel　Waldeaux　had　been　a　drunken　spendthrift　who　had　left　nothing。　　The　house　and　farm　always　had　belonged　to　his　wife。　　She　had　supported　George　by　her　own　work　all　of　his　life。　　She　could　not　save　money；　but　she　had　the　rarer　faculty　of　making　it。　　She　had　raised　fine　fruit　and　flowers　for　the　Philadelphia　market；　she　had　traded　in　high　breeds　of　poultry　and　cattle；　and　had　invested　her　earnings　shrewdly。　　With　these　successes　she　had　been　able　to　provide　George　with　money　to　spend　freely　at　college。　　She　lived　scantily　at　home；　never　expecting　any　luxury　or　great　pleasure　to　come　into　her　own　life。
  But　two　years　ago　a　queer　thing　had　happened　to　her。　　In　an　idle　hour　she　wrote　a　comical　squib　and　sent　it　to　a　New　York　paper。　　As　everybody　knows；　fun；　even　vulgar　fun；　sells　high　in　the　market。　　Her　fun　was　not　vulgar；　but　coarse　and　biting　enough　to　tickle　the　ears　of　the　common　reader。　　The　editor　offered　her　a　salary　equal　to　her　whole　income　for　a　weekly　column　of　such　fooling。
  She　had　hoarded　every　penny　of　this　money。　　With　it　she　meant　to　pay　her　expenses　in　Europe　and　to　support　George　in　his　year　at　Oxford。　　The　work　and　the　salary　were　to　go　on　while　she　was　gone。
  It　was　easy　enough　to　hide　all　of　these　things　from　her　son　while　he　was　in　Cambridge　and　she　in　Delaware。　　But　now？　　What　if　he　should　find　out　that　his　mother　was　the　Quigg〃　of　the　New　York　；　a　paper　which　he　declared　to　be　unfit　for　a　gentleman　to　read？
  She　was　looking　out　to　sea　and　thinking　of　this　when　her　cousin；　Miss　Vance；　came　up　to　her。　　Miss　Vance　was　a　fashionable　teacher　in　New　York；　who　was　going　to　spend　a　year　abroad　with　two　wealthy　pupils。　　She　was　a　thin　woman；　quietly　dressed；　white　hair　and　black　brows；　with　gold　eye…glasses　bridging　an　aquiline　nose；　gave　her　a　commanding；　inquisitorial　air。
  〃Well；　Frances！〃　she　began　briskly；　〃I　have　not　had　time　before　to　attend　to　you。　　Are　your　bags　hung　in　your　stateroom？〃
  〃I　haven't　been　down　yet；〃　said　Mrs。　Waldeaux　meekly。　　〃We　were　watching　the　fog　in　the　sun。〃
  〃Fog！　　Mercy　on　me！　　You　know　you　may　be　ill　any　minute；　and　your　room　not　ready！　　Of　course；　you　did　not　take　the　bromides　that　I　sent　you　a　week　ago？
  〃No；　Clara。〃
  Miss　Vance　glanced　at　her。　　〃Well；　just　as　you　please。　　I've　done　what　I　could。　　Let　me　look　at　your　itinerary。　　You　will　be　too　ill　for　me　to　advise　you　about　it　later。〃
  〃Oh；　we　made　none！〃　said　George　gayly；　coming　up　to　his　mother's　aid。　　〃We　are　going　to　be　vagabonds；　and　have　no　plans。　　Mother's　soul　draws　us　to　York　Cathedral；　and　mine　to　the　National　Gallery。　　That　is　all　we　know。〃
  〃I　thought　you　had　given　up　that　whim　of　being　an　artist？〃　said　Miss　Vance；　sharply　facing　on　him。
  Young　Waldeaux　reddened。　　〃Yes；　I　have　given　it　up。　　I　know　as　well　as　you　do　that　I　have　no　talent。　　I　am　going　to　study　my　profession　at　Oxford；　and　earn　my　bread　by　it。〃
  〃Quite　right。　　You　never　would　earn　it　by　art；〃　she　said　decisively。　　〃How　long　do　you　stay　in　York；　Frances？〃
  〃Oh；　a　day；　or　a　monthoryears；　as　we　please；〃　said　Frances；　lazily　turning　her　head　away。　　She　wanted　to　set　Clara　Vance　down　in　her　proper　place。　　Mrs。　Waldeaux　abhorred　cousinly　intimatespeople　who　run　into　your　back　door　to　pry　into　the　state　of　your　larder　or　your　income。　　But　Miss　Vance；　as　Frances　knew；　unfortunately　held　a　key　to　her　back　door。　　She　knew　of　George's　wretched　daubs；　and　his　insane　desire；　when　he　was　a　boy；　to　study　art。　　He　gave　it　up　years　ago。　　Why　should　she　nag　him　now　about　it？　　By　virtue　of　her　relationship　she　knew；　too；　all　of　Mrs。　Waldeaux's　secrets。　　It　was　most　unfortunate　that　she　should　have　chosen　to　sail　on　this　vessel。
  〃Well；　mother；〃　George　said；　uneasy　to　get　away；　〃no　doubt　Miss　Vance　is　right。　　We　should　set　things　in　order。　　I　am　going　now　to　give　my　letter　of　credit　to　the　purser　to　lock　up；　shall　I　take　yours？〃
  Mrs。　Waldeaux　did　not　reply　at　once。　　〃No；〃　she　said　at　last。　　〃I　like　to　carry　my　own　purse。〃
  He　smiled　indulgently　as　on　a　child。　　〃Of　course；　dear。　　It　IS　your　own。　　My　father　was　wise　in　that。　　But；　on　this　journey；　I　can　act　as　your　paymaster；　can't　I？　　I　have　studied　foreign　money〃
  〃We　shall　see。　　I　can　keep　it　as　safe　as　any　purser　now；〃　she　said；　obstinately　shaking　her　head。
  He　laughed　and　walked　away。
  〃You　have　not　told　him；　then？〃　demanded　Clara。
  〃No。　　And　I　never　will。　　I　will　not　hurt　the　boy　by　letting　him　know　that　his　mother　has　supported　him；　and　remember；　Clara；　that　he　can　only　hear　it　through　you。　　Nobody　knows　that　I　am　‘Quigg'　but　you。〃
  Miss　Vance　lifted　her　eyebrows。　　〃Nothing　can　need　a　lie；〃　she　quoted　calmly。　　Presently　she　said　earnestly；　〃Frances；　you　are　making　a　mistake。　　Somebody　ought　to　tell　you　the　truth。　　There　is　no　reason　why　your　whole　being　should　be　buried　in　that　man。　　He　should　stand　on　his　own　feet；　now。　　You　can　be　all　that　he　needs　as　a　mother；　and　yet　live　out　your　own　life。　　It　is　broader　than　his　wi