"With a single word, with the glance of an eye, the movement of your little finger"--and she paused, looking intensely, imploringly up into his face--"in less time than it takes me to say what I say now, you may have it all." As he made no answer, only meeting her eyes, she added insistently: "You know she's a fine creature--you know she is!" "Dearest mother, what I seem to know better than anything else in the world is that I love my freedom. I set it far above everything." "Your freedom? What freedom is there in being poor?" Lady Agnes fiercely demanded. "Talk of that when Julia puts everything she possesses at your feet!" "I can't talk of it, mother--it's too terrible an idea. And I can't talk of _her_, nor of what I think of her. You must leave that to me. I do her perfect justice." "You don't or you'd marry her to-morrow," she passionately argued. "You'd feel the opportunity so beautifully rare, with everything in the world to make it perfect. Your father would have valued it for you beyond everything. Think a little what would have given _him_ pleasure. That's what I meant when I spoke just now of us all. It wasn't of Grace and Biddy I was thinking--fancy!--it was of him. He's with you always; he takes with you, at your side, every step you take yourself. He'd bless devoutly your marriage to Julia; he'd feel what it would be for you and for us all. I ask for no sacrifice and he'd ask for none. We only ask that you don't commit the crime----!" Nick Dormer stopped her with another kiss; he murmured "Mother, mother, mother!" as he bent over her. He wished her not to go on, to let him off; but the deep deprecation in his voice didn't prevent her saying: "You know it--you know it perfectly. All and more than all that I can tell you you know." He drew her closer, kissed her again, held her as he would have held a child in a paroxysm, soothing her silently till it could abate. Her vehemence had brought with it tears; she dried them as she disengaged herself. The next moment, however, she resumed, attacking him again: "For a public man she'd be the perfect companion. She's made for public life--she's made to shine, to be concerned in great things, to occupy a high position and to help him on. She'd back you up in everything as she has backed you in this. Together there's nothing you couldn't do. You can have the first house in England--yes, the very first! What freedom _is_ there in being poor? How can you do anything without money, and what money can you make for yourself--what money will ever come to you? That's the crime--to throw away such an instrument of power, such a blessed instrument of good." "It isn't everything to be rich, mother," said Nick, looking at the floor with a particular patience--that is with a provisional docility and his hands in his pockets. "And it isn't so fearful to be poor." "It's vile--it's abject. Don't I know?" "Are you in such acute want?" he smiled.