“I don’t say that I am going, mamma.”

“My darling—­my dearest—­my child!”

“Only that there is no reason why I shouldn’t, except that it would not suit him.  At least I suppose it would not.”

“Has he said so?”

“He has said nothing about it.”

“Thank Heaven for that!  He does not intend to rob me of my child.”

“But, mamma, I am to be his wife.”

“No, no, no!”

“It is that that I want to make you understand.  You know nothing of his character;—­nothing.”

“I do know that he told a base falsehood.”

“Nothing of the kind!  I will not admit it.  It is of no use going into that again, but there was nothing base about it.  He has got an appointment in the United States, and is going out to do the work.  He has not asked me to go with him.  The two things would probably not be compatible.”  Here Mrs. Mountjoy rose from the sofa and embraced her child, as though liberated from her deepest grief.  “But, mamma, you must remember this:—­that I have given him my word, and will never be induced to abandon it.”  Here her mother threw up her hands and again began to weep.  “Either to-day or to-morrow, or ten years hence,—­if he will wait as long, I will,—­we shall be married.  As far as I can see we need not wait ten years, or perhaps more than one or two.  My money will suffice for us.”

“He proposes to live upon you?”

“He proposes nothing of the kind.  He is going to America because he will not propose it.  Nor am I proposing it,—­just at present.”

“At any rate I am glad of that.”

“And now, mamma, you must take me back home as soon as possible.”

“When he has started.”

“No, mamma.  I must be there before he starts.  I cannot let him go without seeing him.  If I am to remain here, here he must come.”

“Your uncle would never receive him.”

“I should receive him.”

This was dreadful—­this flying into actual disobedience.  Whatever did she mean?  Where was she to receive him?  “How could you receive a young man in opposition to the wishes, and indeed to the commands, of all your friends?”

“I’m not going to be at all shamefaced about it, mamma.  I am the woman he has selected to be his wife, and he is the man I have selected to be my husband.  If he were coming I should go to my uncle and ask to have him received.”

“Think of your aunt.”

“Yes; I do think of her.  My aunt would make herself very disagreeable.  Upon the whole, mamma, I think it would be best that you should take me back to England.  There is this M. Grascour here, who is a great trouble, and you may be sure of this, that I intend to see Harry Annesley before he starts for America.”