Beyond the Rocks

It was pouring with rain the evening Lord Bracondale arrived from Paris

at the family mansion in St. James's Square. He had only wired at the

last moment to his mother, too late to change her plans; she was

unfortunately engaged to take Morella Winmarleigh to the opera, and was

dining early at that lady's house, so she could only see him for a few

moments in her dressing-room before she started.

"My darling, darling boy!" she exclaimed, as he opened the door and

peeped in. "Streatfield, bring that chair for his lordship, and--oh, you

can go for a few minutes."

Then she folded him in her arms, and almost sobbed with joy to see him

again.

"Well, mother," he said, when she had kissed him and murmured over him

as much as she wished. "Here I am, and what a sickening climate! And

where are you off to?"

"I am going to dine with Morella Winmarleigh," said Lady Bracondale,

"early, to go to the opera, and then I shall take her on to the

Brantingham's ball. Won't you join us at either place, Hector? I feel it

so dreadfully, having to rush off like this, your first evening,

darling."

She stood back and looked at him. She must see for herself whether he

was well, and if this riotous life she feared he had been leading lately

had not too greatly told upon him. Her fond eyes detected an air of

weariness: he looked haggard, and not so full of spirits as he usually

was. Alas! if he would only stay in England!

"I am rather tired, mother; I may look in at the opera, but I can't face

a ball. How is Anne, and what is she doing to-night?" he said.

"Anne has a bad cold. We have had such weather--nothing but rain since

Sunday night! She is dining at home and going to bed early. I have just

had a telephone message from her; she is longing to see you, too."

"I think I shall go round and dine with her then," said Hector, "and

join you later."

They talked on for about ten minutes before he left her to dress,

running against Streatfield in the passage. She had known him since his

birth, and beamed with joy at his return.

He chaffed her about growing fat, and went on his way to telephone to

his sister.

"His lordship looks pale, my lady," said the demure woman, as she

fastened Lady Bracondale's bracelet. She, too, disapproved of Paris and

bachelorhood, but she did not love Morella Winmarleigh.