How generous a man's intervention makes women! But Lizzie promised to see her lover off in the morning.
"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Ford. "You'll not be up. John will want to breakfast quietly."
"I shall see you off, Jack," repeated the young lady, from the threshold.
Elizabeth went up stairs buoyant with her young love. It had dawned upon her like a new life, — a life positively worth the living. Hereby she would subsist and cost nobody anything. In it she was boundlessly rich. She would make it the hidden spring of a hundred praiseworthy deeds. She would begin the career of duty: she would enjoy boundless equanimity: she would raise her whole being to the level of her sublime passion. She would practise charity, humility, piety, — in fine, all the virtues: together with certain morceaux of Beethoven and Chopin. She would walk the earth like one glorified. She would do homage to the best of men by inviolate secrecy. Here, by I know not what gentle transition, as she lay in the quiet darkness, Elizabeth covered her pillow with a flood of tears.
Meanwhile Ford, down-stairs, began in this fashion. He was lounging at his manly length on the sofa, in his slippers.
"May I light a pipe, mother?"
"Yes, my love. But please be careful of your ashes. There 's a newspaper."
"Pipes don't make ashes. — Mother, what do you think?" he continued, between the puffs of his smoking; "I 've got a piece of news."
"Ah?" said Mrs. Ford, fumbling for her scissors; "I hope it 's good news."
"I hope you 'll think it so. I 've been engaging myself" — puff, — puff — "to Lizzie Crowe." A cloud of puffs between his mother's face and his own. When they cleared away, Jack felt his mother's eyes. Her work was in her lap. "To be married, you know," he added.
In Mrs. Ford's view, like the king in that of the British Constitution, her only son could do no wrong. Prejudice is a stout bulwark against surprise. Moreover, Mrs. Ford's motherly instinct had not been entirely at fault. Still, it had by no means kept pace with fact. She had been silent, partly from doubt, partly out of respect for her son. As long as John did not doubt of himself, he was right. Should he come to do so, she was sure he would speak. And now, when he told her the matter was settled, she persuaded herself that he was asking her advice.
"I 've been expecting it," she said, at last.
"You have? why did n't you speak?"
"Well, John, I can't say I 've been hoping it."
"Why not?"
"I am not sure of Lizzie's heart," said Mrs. Ford, who, it may be well to add, was very sure of her own. Jack began to laugh. "What 's the matter with her heart?"
"I think Lizzie 's shallow," said Mrs. Ford; and there was that in her tone which betokened some satisfaction with this adjective.
"Hang it! she is shallow," said Jack. "But when a thing 's shallow, you can see to the bottom. Lizzie does n't pretend to be deep. I want a wife, mother, that I can understand. That 's the only wife I can love. Lizzie 's the only girl I ever understood, and the first I ever loved. I love her very much, — more than I can explain to you."
"Yes, I confess it 's inexplicable. It seems to me," she added, with a bad smile, "like infatuation."
Jack did not like the smile; he liked it even less than the remark. He smoked steadily for a few moments, and then he said, "Well, mother, love is notoriously obstinate, you know. We shall not be able to take the same view of this subject: suppose we drop it."
"Remember that this is your last evening at home, my son," said Mrs. Ford.
"I do remember. Therefore I wish to avoid disagreement."
There was a pause. The young man
