“There is no such word as ‘cannot!’” returned Mrs. Crosbie, vigorously. “If I were in your place, Stuart, how differently I would act! You are wasting your life.” Stuart walked back to the window. “I will not give you a decided answer now, mother,” he said. “Give me two days to consider.” “Willingly,” she agreed, “and weigh all things well. Remember, you will afford me the greatest happiness in life if you agree to this and to another wish.” “To make you happy, mother, I would do much,” Stuart responded, raising her hand to his lips. “What is it?” Mrs. Crosbie drew a long breath. “That you will marry.” “Marry!” repeated Stuart, dropping her hand, while his face grew white and his brow darkened. “That, mother, is impossible.” “I have not spoken to you on this subject before, Stuart, though it has been one very near my heart. You have been troubled; but you are not my son if you have not pride sufficient to drown and wash away forever any trace of your trouble. It is not for a Crosbie to submit to insult and humiliation.” “I submit to none!” retorted Stuart, in a quiet, clear voice. “You have been deceived,” his mother declared, coldly and proudly; “by one who was not worthy even a second thought.” “Mother!” he exclaimed, hurriedly, and then stopped. What could he say in defense of Margery? She was, indeed, all this. “Your wish is sudden,” he added, after a pause. “It comes to me quite unexpectedly; but I have only one answer to it--I shall never marry!” Mrs. Crosbie compressed her lips and turned away. “Just now you called yourself selfish,” she observed. “I think you were right.” “Why should I marry, mother?” he cried, suddenly. “You know, or perhaps you can never know, what the past meant to me. I am not a vane to be turned by every wind. I have loved, and I shall not love again.” “What has that to do with marriage?” “I would not ask any woman to be a wife on such empty terms; it would be a sin. But it is not necessary. I would do anything, mother, in my power to please you; but this I cannot.” “Are you my child?” asked his mother, quietly and coldly. “Can you waste your whole life, like a misanthrope, because a village coquette has laughed at and mocked you? There are good women’s hearts still in the world, women of our world, who can love and suffer as such creatures never can.” “I will offer no woman my life without my love,” declared Stuart, firmly. “What would you say if I were to tell you that there is one who would take it gladly, one who has watched and worked for you all these months in silence, and who, through everything, is steadfast and true as steel?” Mrs. Crosbie’s hand fell on her son’s shoulder as she spoke. She felt it was her last card; it might win the game. Stuart looked into his mother’s eyes; a flush rose to his face. “You mean,” he began. “Your cousin, Vane,” she broke in. “Vane!”