"I was afraid it would be so. . ’ ‘That’s odd. Earles watched her anxiously. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. Irreton. The colouring was green and white, with softly shaded electric lights, an alcove bedstead, which was a miracle of daintiness, white furniture, and a long low dressing-table littered all over with a multitude of daintily fashioned toilet appliances. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror.
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