`You are late!' she said, looking at him.
His eyes were shining; his face seemed to glow. He smiled to her.
`Yes; I've been down Clifton Grove with Clara.'
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--'