as a trace of Mr. Cope's passage. Then flinging himself into a chair, "What infernal heat!" he went on. "What a hideous climate you've got here! Do bring me a glass of water."
I brought him his glass, and stood before him as he quickly drank it. "Don't think you're not welcome," I ventured to say, "if I ask what has brought you home so suddenly."
He gave me another hard look over the top of his glass. "A suspicion. It's none too soon. Tell me what is going on between my mother and Mr. Cope."
"Eustace," I said, "before I answer you, let me remind you of the respect which under all circumstances you owe your mother."
He sprang from his chair. "Respect! I'm right, then. They mean to marry! Speak!" And as I hesitated, "You needn't speak," he cried. "I see it in your face. Thank God I'm here!"
His violence aroused me. "If you have a will to enforce in the matter," I said, "you are indeed none too soon. You're too late. Your mother is married." I spoke passionately, but in a moment I repented of my words.
"Married!" the poor boy shouted. "Married, you say!" He turned deadly pale and stood staring at me with his mouth wide open. Then, trembling in all his limbs, he dropped into a chair. For some
