"I hate China tea," he answered reflectively, after what seemed to his mother about half an hour's deep thought.
... "But what I always have said about Valentia is that though we all admit, dear, that she has charming manners, is bright and amusing and very sweet——"
He smiled.
"Outwardly, is there anything behind it all? Has she any depth?" She quickly answered her own question, "I think she has; a great deal. I believe Valentia is extremely clever in her own way; she turns you round her little finger. But that wouldn't matter so much—anything's better than quarrelling and snapping and finding fault continually—which is a thing I hate. But, really, there's one point I'm quite anxious about—in fact, I often lie awake the whole night—the entire night—and wake up in the morning utterly worn out through thinking about it, Romer dear. There's nothing like a mother's heart—and this does make me anxious, I own."
"What?"
"Why, that she should ever be talked about! That she should be considered a flirt—and that sort of thing! I couldn't bear the idea of my son's wife having her name coupled with that of any young man—or any nonsense of that sort. It would be most painful to me. I'm sure I ask every one who knows her if anything of that kind is ever said."
Romer threw away the cigarette and stood up.
"What infernal rot!" he said, with a heightened colour.
Her eyes brightened with pleasure. She was delighted to have irritated him at last out of his calmness.
"Well, well, perhaps I'm a little over-anxious. It's all love, all devotion to you, dear. Of course, people do talk. There's no doubt about that; but good gracious! we all know there's nothing in it. Don't we? Don't be cross with your poor old mother, Romer."