"One does not look for perfection in a man," his mother informed him seriously. "He is criticized much less severely than a woman. It seems to be the universal rule, though I have sometimes thought it wasn't absolutely just and that it had its drawbacks. It's one of the things the women who go out and speak are declaiming against and something one of them lately said sticks in my mind." She sighed as she added: "The times are changing; there was no need to consider such questions in your father's case. He was the soul of honor--you were very young when death parted us." She did not always express herself clearly, but Gladwyne saw that she did not place him in the same category as his father and he recognized her half-formulated thought that it would have been better had he grown up under the latter's firmer guidance. "Wonders never cease, mother," he responded with an attempt at lightness. "It's difficult to imagine your being influenced by the latest propaganda. I thought you shuddered at it." "Well," she said, "I was forgetting what I meant to talk about, drifting away from the subject; I'm afraid it's a habit of mine. What I have long felt is that it would be so desirable if you married suitably." "The trouble is to define the suitability. It's a point upon which everybody has a different opinion." "I would choose a girl of good family and education for you, one with a well-balanced will, who could see what was right and cling to it. Still, she must be wise and gentle; a tactful, considerate guide; and though means are not of first importance, they are not to be despised." Gladwyne leaned back in his chair with a laugh that had in it a tinge of irritation. "Are such girls numerous? But why do you insist on a will and the power of guiding? It looks as if you thought I needed it. Sometimes you're the reverse of flattering." His mother looked troubled; she would have wounded no living creature unnecessarily. "My dear, it's not always easy to express what one feels, and I dare say I'm injudicious in choosing my words. But your welfare is very near to my heart." "I know that," he answered gently. "But you were not describing an imaginary paragon. Hadn't you Millicent in your mind?" "I should be very happy if I could welcome her as my daughter. I should feel that you were safe then." There was a thrill of regret in her voice that touched him. It hinted that she blamed herself for omissions and lack of wisdom in his upbringing. Besides, her confidence in any one who had won her respect, as Millicent had done, was bestowed so generously. "I'm afraid I've often given you trouble, and I do you little credit now," he said. "But, as to the other matter, one can't be sure that Millicent would welcome the idea. Of late I've had a suspicion that she hasn't a very high opinion of me." "You could hardly expect to gain it by devoting yourself to Miss Crestwick." The man smiled rather grimly.