CHAPTER VII.
In the spring, eighteen months after his daughter's visit to Carbury Towers, Mr.Reginald Harrington Lind called at a house in Manchester Square and found Mrs.Douglas at home.

Sholto's mother was a widow lady older than Mr.Lind, with a rather glassy eye and shaky hand, who would have looked weak and shiftless in an almshouse, but who, with plenty of money, unlimited domestic service, and unhesitating deference from attendants who were all trained artists in their occupation, made a fair shew of being a dignified and interesting old lady.

When he was seated, her first action was to take a new photograph from a little table at her side, and hand it to him without a word, awaiting his recognition of it with a shew of natural pride and affection which was amateurish in comparison to the more polished and skilful comedy with which her visitor took it and pretended to admire it.
"Capital.

Capital," said Mr.Lind.

"He must give us one." "You dont think that the beard has spoiled him, do you ?" said Mrs.
Douglas.
"Certainly not: it is an improvement," said Mr.Lind, decisively.