"Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. But for a long time, anyhow, we lovers have to be as if we were no more than friends.
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