‘Poor mamma! I am all mamma has; must I leave her?’
‘Do you know, I thought of that difficulty; I and “mamma” have discussed it.’
‘Tell me what you wish—what you would like—and I will consider if it is possible to consent; but I cannot desert her, even for you; I cannot break her heart, even for your sake.’
‘She was faithful when I was false—was she not? I never came near your sick-bed, and she watched it ceaselessly.’
‘What must I do? Anything but leave her.’
‘At my wish, you never shall leave her.’
‘She may live very near us?’
‘With us—only she will have her own rooms and servant: for this she stipulates herself.’
‘You know she has an income, that, with her habits, makes her quite independent?’
‘She told me that, with a gentle pride that reminded me of somebody else.’
‘She is not at all interfering, and incapable of gossip.’
‘I know her, Cary: but if—instead of being the personification of reserve and discretion—she were something quite opposite, I should not fear her.’
‘Yet she will be your mother-in-law?’
The speaker gave an arch little nod: Moore smiled.
‘Louis and I are not of the order of men who fear their mothers-in-law, Cary; our foes never have been, nor will be, those of our own household. I doubt not my mother-in-law will make much of me.’
‘That she will—in her quiet way, you know. She is not demonstrative: and when you see her silent, or even cool, you must not fancy her displeased—it is only a manner she has. Be sure to let me interpret for her, whenever she puzzles you; always believe my account of the matter, Robert.’
‘Oh, implicitly! Jesting apart, I feel that she and I will suit—on ne peut mieux. Hortense, you know, is exquisitely susceptible—in our French sense of the word—and not, perhaps, always reasonable in her requirements; yet—dear, honest girl—I never painfully wounded her feelings, or had a serious quarrel with her, in my life.’
‘No; you are most generously considerate—indeed, most tenderly indulgent to her; and you will be considerate with mamma. You are a gentleman all through, Robert, to the bone, and nowhere so perfect a gentleman as at your own fireside.’
‘A eulogium I like; it is very sweet. I am well pleased my Caroline should view me in this light.’
‘Mamma just thinks of you as I do.’
‘Not quite, I hope?’
‘She does not want to marry you—don’t be vain—but she said to me the other day, “My dear, Mr. Moore has pleasing manners; he is one of the few gentlemen I have seen who combine politeness with an air of sincerity.”’