“Well, of course, if we live at home—­”

“But you promised me we’d be to ourselves, George; you can’t have forgotten it.  We talked it over, every bit of it, and I told you in the beginning I couldn’t leave mother.”

“If you loved me enough to marry me, I should think you’d be willing to give up your family for me.”  He spoke doggedly; it was his way to speak doggedly when he was driving a point.

“It isn’t that, dear, you know it isn’t that.”

Taking a letter from his pocket, he drew a sheet of blue note paper, closely interlined, from the envelope, and handed it to her.

“You can see for yourself how it is,” he said in an aggrieved voice.  By his tone he had managed to put her in the wrong as utterly as if she, not he, were trying to break her word.  Yet she had told him in the very beginning that she could not leave her mother; she had refused to engage herself to him until he had offered Mrs. Carr a home with them.  It had all been carefully arranged at the start, and now, within a month of their marriage, he had apparently forgotten that the matter was settled.

Leaning forward until the light fell on the paper, she read with trembling lips: 

     My Dear Son: 

Your letter was a blow to me because you had said nothing of Gabriella’s plan to bring her mother to New York to live with her, and, of course, this makes it out of the question that you should come straight to us.  Now that Patty has gone—­poor child, I am afraid she will live to repent her rashness—­your father and I had quite looked forward to having you young people in the house; but we haven’t room, even if I could bring myself to face the prospect of a rival mother-in-law under the same roof with me—­and frankly I can’t.  And your father has simply put his foot down on the idea.  As you know he hasn’t been very well of late—­the doctor says he is threatened with diabetes—­so my one thought is to spare him every useless anxiety.  He sleeps very badly and doesn’t seem able, even at night, to detach his mind from his business worries.  If he hadn’t had such a bad summer, he might have been able to help you start housekeeping, but there have been a great many failures in the last few months, and he says he is obliged to cut down all his expenses in order to tide over the depression in the market.  We are trying to retrench in every possible way, and, for this reason, I fear we shall hardly be able to go down to your wedding.  This is a terrible disappointment to us both, and your father is particularly distressed because he will not be able to add to your income this year.  Of course, if you should change your mind and decide to come to us, we can get Patty’s old room ready for you at once, and turn yours into a sitting-room.  Think this over and let me know as soon as you possibly can.

I see Patty occasionally.  She is in high spirits, but looking a little thinner,