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The mother's heart all went out towards him; the mother's eyes moistened
as she looked.
The couple in the conservatory were alone. A Chinese lantern, swung high
up above, shed down a soft radiance upon them. Tall camellia bushes,
covered with waxen blossoms and cool shiny leaves, were behind them;
banks of long-fronded, feathery ferns framed them in like a picture.
Maurice's handsome figure stood up tall and strong amongst the greenery;
the dress of the woman he was with lay in soft diaphanous folds upon the
ground beyond him. One white arm rested on her lap, one tiny foot peeped
out from below the laces of her skirt. But Lady Kynaston could not see
her face.
"I wonder who she is," she said to herself. "It is not Helen. She has
peacock's feathers on her dress--bad luck, I believe! Dear boy, he looks
thoroughly happy. I will not disturb him now."
And she passed on through the hall into the large drawing-room, where the
dancing was going on.
The first person she caught sight of there was her eldest son.


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