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contracting a marriage that she felt would make him unhappy. He had not consulted her, however, and now it was too late to retract the offer, even if Roger was willing to do so.
    "That is no way to speak of the woman who is as good as my wife. Do not do so again."
    Lady Hereford scarcely recognized the blue eyes that fixed her own, so hard had they become. Normally they held nothing but laughter or affection when she saw them.
    "I am sorry, Roger."
    "It is naught." But his expression did not soften. "Lady Elizabeth is apparently distressed by the idea that her dowry is more important to me than her person. This may be true for most marriages, but I will tell you plainly, Mother, so that you too will not be mistaken, that is not true for this one." It was really partly true, but Hereford wished to impress his mother with his attachment for Elizabeth in the hope that it would give her caution in dealing with the girl.
    "No," Lady Hereford faltered, "of course not. She is a very beautiful woman, and good, and clever. I have no word to say against her except that her temper is a little hasty. But I did not mean to talk about Lady Elizabeth. If you go so soon there are two matters I must mention now."
    "Yes?"
    "Anne is sixteen now and should have been married already. The sooner we can fulfill her contract, the better. Also, you should be thinking about a husband for Catherine. She will be thirteen in the spring."
    "Very well. Go ahead and begin preparations for Anne's wedding. As soon as I know myself, I will tell you what date will be most convenient to me—and, of course, to Lincoln. I will write and ask him when Rannulf will be ready to take her. Is there something else? Surely you do not expect me to pick a suitable man for Catherine out of the air. I must think about it."
    "The other matter can wait. You are too angry now to listen with patience."
    Hereford had walked away to stare into the fire, but now he returned, brow smoothed and lips faintly curved. "Not really. It is true that Lady Elizabeth does not have a gentle disposition. I do not know why it should enrage me to have you make the point, but it does. There, I am recovered. You had better ask what you want because Sir John is riding over to join me at dinner. I believe he would like me to foster his son. That is not important one way or the other, but he will talk and talk, and that will give us little time because I think I will leave in the morning."
    "Well then, your brother Walter—"
    "Good God, what trouble is he in now?"
    "None yet, but I have no control over him at all. He was perfectly all right until he learned that you were planning to return. Then he took up with a band of out-and-out robbers, and he is coming very close to hanging. I cannot think why he should be so outrageous. You have always been most generous to him and he lacks for nothing."
    "He will lack his head if I lay my hands on him," Hereford flashed, crimson with rage. "I have no time now to bother with him, but tell him for me, Mamma, that if he blackens our name any more with his lawlessness I will hunt him down like the criminal he is and see that he has no further opportunity to offend Heaven or me with his actions."
    A stool crashed as Hereford booted it across the room. Lady Hereford stood quietly, hands folded, eyes on the floor. She hardly knew whether Roger was dearer when he was filled with laughter and teasing or when he raged, so like his father that her heart ached anew. This rage did not frighten her, she was accustomed to Roger's hot temper. She was only frightened when he turned to ice and she could not recognize her son.
    "I have borne enough from him. I will bear no more. I will—"
    "This is nothing to the point, Roger." The countess interrupted sharply with the privilege of a mother. "You may be as angry as you please, but you know that that will only make Walter worse. Do stop shouting and think of something practical or the family will have worse shame than a robber