‘My dear,’ she said, ‘that is all very well at present, till you see someone who is dearer to you than either your mother or your home. That will come some time; but in the meantime, dear----’ ‘The meantime will be always, mother--the other time will never come.’ Mrs. Meredith gave him a sudden look--then checked herself when about to say something, sighed a little, and made a pause; and then she began to talk on another subject between which and this there seemed little connection, though Edward perceived the connection easily enough. ‘We shall have it all to ourselves apparently,’ she said, with a faint smile. ‘Oswald, I suppose, will be thinking of a house for himself; and why should he wait? There is no reason why he should wait. To be sure, they are young. Has he said anything to you, Edward?’ ‘Nothing, mother.’ ‘Well; they must have their reasons, I presume. One does not like to be left quite out; but it is the thing one ought to expect as one gets old. Old people are supposed not to sympathise with youth. It is a mistake, Edward--a great pity; but I suppose it will be the same as long as the world lasts. I did the same, no doubt, when I was young too.’ He made no reply. So sure as he was that he never could have such secrets to communicate, how could he say anything? and she went on. ‘I am not finding fault with Oswald. He has always been a good boy--both of you,’ she said, smiling upon him. ‘You have never given me any great anxiety. And everything has turned out well hitherto. They will have plenty of money; but so long as Oswald does not say anything, how can I speak to her father, as I should like to do? Men do not notice such things; and it seems uncandid with so good a friend; but till Oswald speaks--I hope he will be an attentive husband, Edward. He will be kind; but there are many little attentions that a fanciful girl expects--and feels the want of when they fail her.’ Edward said nothing to all this; how could he? He winced, but bore it stoutly, though he could not make any reply. It was better to accustom himself to have it talked about; but he could not himself enter upon the subject. ‘Will you mind if I leave this evening, for a little?’ he said. ‘No, dear; certainly not--but, Edward,’ she said, coming round to him as she rose from the table, and laying her hand on his arm, ‘are you sure it is good for you, my dear boy? are you not making it harder for yourself?’ ‘Let me alone, mother--so long as I can,’ he said, hoarsely. ‘No; it does not make it harder; and it can’t last long now.’ ‘No--there is no reason why they should wait. I wish--I wish he may not be a careless husband, Edward. Why should he spend all his evenings away? There is something in it I cannot understand.’ ‘He has always been the happy one, mother. Whatever he has wished for has come to him. He does not know what it is to be so fortunate--nothing has cost him any trouble--not even this.’