But this was plainly a little forced, and Morris waited till Mr. Timmins had gone out.

“And you really meant that?” he asked.  “You are really not anxious?”

“No, I am not anxious,” he said, “but—­but I shall be glad when he comes back.  Is that inconsistent?  I think perhaps it is.  Well, let us say then that I am just a shade anxious.  But I may add that I feel sure my anxiety is quite unnecessary.  That defines it for you.”

Morris went straight home from here, and found that his mother had just returned from her afternoon drive.  She had found the blotting book waiting for her when she came back that morning, and was delighted with the gift and the loving remembering thought that inspired it.

“But you shouldn’t spend your money on me, my darling,” she said to Morris, “though I just love the impulse that made you.”

“Oh, very well,” said Morris, kissing her, “let’s have the initials changed about then, and let it be M.A. from H.A.”

Then his voice grew grave.

“Mother dear, I’ve got another birthday present for you.  I think—­I think you will like it.”

She saw at once that he was speaking of no tangible material gift.

“Yes, dear?” she said.

“Madge and me,” said Morris.  “Just that.”

And Mrs. Assheton did like this second present, and though it made her cry a little, her tears were the sweetest that can be shed.

* * * * *

Mother and son dined alone together, and since Morris had determined to forget, to put out of his mind the hideous injury that Mills had attempted to do him, he judged it to be more consistent with this resolve to tell his mother nothing about it, since to mention it to another, even to her, implied that he was not doing his best to bury what he determined should be dead to him.  As usual, they played backgammon together, and it was not till Mrs. Assheton rose to go to bed that she remembered Mr. Taynton’s note, asking her and Morris to dine with him on their earliest unoccupied day.  This, as is the way in the country, happened to be the next evening, and since the last post had already gone out, she asked Morris if Martin might take the note round for her tonight, since it ought to have been answered before.

That, of course, was easily done, and Morris told his servant to call also at the house where Mr. Mills’s flat was situated, and ask the porter if he had come home.  The note dispatched his mother went to bed, and Morris went down to the billiard room to practise spot-strokes, a form of hazard at which he was singularly inefficient, and wait for news.  Little as he knew Mills, and little cause as he had for liking him, he too, like Mr. Taynton, felt vaguely anxious and perturbed, since “disappearances” are necessarily hedged about with mystery and wondering.  His own anger and hatred, too, like mists drawn up and dispersed by the sun of love that had dawned on him, had altogether vanished; the attempt against him had, as it turned out, been so futile, and he genuinely wished to have some assurance of the safety of the man, the thought of whom had so blackened his soul only twenty-four hours ago.