After a moment of oppressive silence, she began: 

“Perhaps I can best present this issue in its true light by again asking, Are you a man of honor?”

“Is it dishonorable,” answered her son irritably, “to love a pure, good girl?”

“No,” said his mother, in the same quiet, measured voice; “but it may be very great folly and a useless waste.  It is dishonorable, however, to inspire false hopes in a girl’s heart, no matter who she is.  It is weak and dishonorable to hover around a pretty face like a poor moth that singes its wings.”

In sudden, passionate appeal, he exclaimed, “If I can win Miss Jocelyn, why cannot I marry her?  She is as good as she is beautiful.  If you knew her as I do you would be proud to call her your daughter.  They live very prettily, even elegantly—­”

By a simple, deprecatory gesture Mrs. Arnold made her son feel that it was useless to add another word.

“Vinton,” she said, “a little reason in these matters is better than an indefinite amount of sentimental nonsense.  You are now old enough to be swayed by reason, and not to fume and fret after the impossible like a child.  Neither your father nor I have acted hastily in this matter.  It was a great trial to discover that you had allowed your fancy to become entangled below the circle in which it is your privilege to move, and I am thankful that my other children have been more considerate.  In a quiet, unobtrusive way we have taken pains to learn all about the Jocelyns.  They are comparative strangers in the city.  Mr. Jocelyn is merely a junior partner in a large iron firm, and from all your father says I fear he has lived too elegantly for his means.  That matter will soon be tested, however, for his firm is in trouble and will probably have to suspend.  With your health, and in the face of the fierce competition in this city, are you able to marry and support a penniless girl?  If, on the contrary, you propose to support a wife on the property that now belongs to your father and myself, our wishes should have some weight.  I tell you frankly that our means, though large, are not sufficient to make you all independent and maintain the style to which you have been accustomed.  With your frail health and need of exemption from care and toil, you must marry wealth.  Your father is well satisfied that whoever allies himself to this Jocelyn family may soon have them all on his hands to support.  We decline the risk of burdening ourselves with these unknown, uncongenial people.  Is there anything unreasonable in that?  Because you are fascinated by a pretty face, of which there are thousands in this city, must we be forced into intimate associations with people that are wholly distasteful to us?  This would be a poor return for having shielded you so carefully through years of ill health and feebleness.”

The young man’s head drooped lower and lower as his mother spoke, and his whole air was one of utter despondency.  She waited for his reply, but for a few moments he did not speak.  Suddenly he looked up, with a reckless, characteristic laugh, and said: