Mrs. Meredith gave a little shiver. ‘Do you think he should still go?’ she asked, anxiously. ‘Indeed, I have not persuaded him. I have held my tongue. And he never liked the idea. He did it for duty only. But he does not mean to sink into idleness--he will work here.’ ‘At what will he work? The Bar? Every young man I ever meet is going to the Bar. There will soon be nobody left to make the necessary mischief, and provide work for them. But if a man wants a fine career, India is the place. You are going to stay in this house, notwithstanding your old adviser?’ ‘It does not matter to me,’ she said. ‘I can be as happy in one house as another. It is Edward who wishes it.’ ‘And then, if he sees someone he likes--and marries, and leaves you in the lurch? Boys who are independent so young are sure to marry young.’ She shook her head. ‘Ah! how I wish it might be so! I would forgive him for leaving me--if only my boy was happy.’ Mr. Beresford got up, and walked about the room. It was nothing extraordinary, but only a way he had, and did not suggest to his friend any _accès_ of excitement. ‘You think marriage, then, so much the happiest condition?’ he said. Mrs. Meredith made a pause before she replied. ‘Is that the question? How can I answer at my age, and in--the circumstances you know. We have not to settle abstract happiness. Feelings of that kind die out, and I am not the person to speak. I think a woman--at one time of life--loves her children more than ever she loved _man_.’ ‘Some women----’ ‘But it is not marrying in the abstract. My boy would be happy if he could get--what he wants. But he never will get that,’ she added, with a sigh. ‘What is so tragic about Edward’s love affairs?’ he asked, half laughing; ‘is it ever so serious at two-and-twenty?’ ‘Ah, you laugh! but you would not have laughed, at his age, if you had seen someone you were fond of secured by--another--who was not half so true a lover perhaps; or, at least, you thought so.’