His mother looked at him again.
“But won’t people talk?” she said.
“Why? They know she’s a suffragette, and so on. And what if they do talk!”
“Of course, there may be nothing wrong in it,” said his mother. “But you know what folk are, and if once she gets talked about——”
“Well, I can’t help it. Their jaw isn’t so almighty important, after all.”
“I think you ought to consider her.”
“So I do! What can people say?—that we take a walk together. I believe you’re jealous.”
“You know I should be glad if she weren’t a married woman.”
“Well, my dear, she lives separate from her husband, and talks on platforms; so she’s already singled out from the sheep, and, as far as I can see, hasn’t much to lose. No; her life’s nothing to her, so what’s the worth of nothing? She goes with me—it becomes something. Then she must pay—we both must pay! Folk are so frightened of paying; they’d rather starve and die.”
“Very well, my son. We’ll see how it will end.”
“Very well, my mother. I’ll abide by the end.”
“We’ll see!”
“And she’s—she’s awfully nice, mother; she is really! You don’t know!”
“That’s not the same as marrying her.”
“It’s perhaps better.”
There was silence for a while. He wanted to ask his mother something, but was afraid.
“Should you like to know her?” He hesitated.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Morel coolly. “I should like to know what she’s like.”
“But she’s nice, mother, she is! And not a bit common!”
“I never suggested she was.”
“But you seem to think she’s—not as good as—— She’s better than ninety-nine folk out of a hundred, I tell you! She’s better, she is! She’s fair, she’s honest, she’s straight! There isn’t anything underhand or superior about her. Don’t be mean about her!”
Mrs. Morel flushed.
“I am sure I am not mean about her. She may be quite as you say, but——”
“You don’t approve,” he finished.
