"I don't understand you," exclaimed Mrs. Kincaid, bewildered. "I never thought you would care for any woman at all--you never struck me as the sort of man, somehow; but now that you do care, you can't surely mean that you think it right for the woman to leave the only place where she has any friends and go out into the world by herself? Don't you say you are in love with her?" "I asked Miss Brettan to marry me," he answered. "Since you put the question, I do think it right for her to leave the place; I think every woman would wish to leave in the circumstances. I think it would be indelicate to restrain her." "Your sense of delicacy is very acute for a lover," said the old lady grimly; "much too fine a thing to be comfortable. And I'll tell you what is greater still--your pride. Don't imagine you take me in for a moment; look behind you in the glass and ask yourself if it's likely!" He had moved apart from her now and was lounging on the hearth, but he did not attempt to follow her advice. Nor did he deny the implication. "I look pretty bad," he acknowledged, "I know. But you're mistaken, for all that; my pride has nothing to do with it." "You're making yourself ill at the prospect of losing her, and yet you won't----Not but what she must be mad to reject you, certainly I am not standing up for her, don't think it! I don't say I wanted to see you fond of her--I should have preferred to see you marry someone who would have been of use to you and helped you in your career. You might have done a great deal better; and I am sure I understand your having a proper pride in the matter and objecting to beg her to remain. But, for all that, if you do find so much in this particular woman that you are going to be miserable without her, why, _I_ can say something to induce her to stop!" "To the woman you would prefer me not to marry?" he said wearily. "But you mustn't do it, mother." "I do want to see you marry her, Philip; I want to see you happy. You don't follow me a bit. Since the dread of her loss can make you look like that, you mustn't lose her; that's what I say." "I _have_ lost her," he returned; "I follow you very well. You think I might have married a princess, and you would have viewed that with a little pang too. You would give me to Miss Brettan with a big pang, but you'd give me to her because you think I want her." "That is it--not a very big pang, either; I know every man is the best judge of his own life. Indeed, it oughtn't to be a pang at all; I don't think it is a pang, only a tiny A sweet-heart is always a mother's rival just at first, Phil; and I suppose it's always the mother's fault. But one day, when you're married to Mary, and a boy of your own falls in love with a strange girl, your wife will tell you how she feels. She'll explain it to you better that I can, and then you'll know how _your_ mother felt and it won't seem so unnatural." "Oh," he said, "hush! Don't! I shall never be married to Mary."