Mrs. Durgin had the courage of her own purposes, but she had the fear of Jeff's. After the first pang of the disappointment which took final shape from his declaration that he was going to marry Cynthia, she did not really care much. She had the habit of the girl; she respected her, she even loved her. The children, as she thought of them, had known each other from their earliest days; Jeff had persecuted Cynthia throughout his graceless boyhood, but he had never intimidated her; and his mother, with all her weakness for him, felt that it was well for him that his wife should be brave enough to stand up against him. She formulated this feeling no more than the others, but she said to Westover, whom Jeff bade her tell of the engagement: “It a'n't exactly as I could 'a' wished it to be. But I don't know as mothers are ever quite suited with their children's marriages. I presume it's from always kind of havin' had her round under my feet ever since she was born, as you may say, and seein' her family always so shiftless. Well, I can't say that of Frank, either. He's turned out a fine boy; but the father! Cynthy is one of the most capable girls, smart as a trap, and bright as a biscuit. She's masterful, too! she NEED to have a will of her own with Jeff.” Something of the insensate pride that mothers have in their children's faults, as their quick tempers, or their wastefulness, or their revengefulness, expressed itself in her tone; and it was perhaps this that irritated Westover. “I hope he'll never let her know it. I don't think a strong will is a thing to be prized, and I shouldn't consider it one of Cynthia's good points. The happiest life for her would be one that never forced her to use it.” “I don't know as I understand you exactly,” said Mrs. Durgin, with some dryness. “I know Jeff's got rather of a domineering disposition, but I don't believe but she can manage him without meetin' him on his own ground, as you may say.” “She's a girl in a thousand,” Westover returned, evasively. “Then you think he's shown sense in choosin' of her?” pursued Jeff's mother, resolute to find some praise of him in Westover's words. “He's a very fortunate man,” said the painter. “Well, I guess you're right,” Mrs. Durgin acquiesced, as much to Jeff's advantage as she could. “You know I was always afraid he would make a fool of himself, but I guess he's kept his eyes pretty well open all the while. Well!” She closed the subject with this exclamation. “Him and Cynthy's been at me about Jackson,” she added, abruptly. “They've cooked it up between 'em that he's out of health or run down or something.” Her manner referred the matter to Westover, and he said: “He isn't looking so well this summer. He ought to go away somewhere.” “That's what they thought,” said Mrs. Durgin, smiling in her pleasure at having their opinion confirmed by the old and valued friend of the family. “Whereabouts do you think he'd best go?” “Oh, I don't know. Italy--or Egypt--”