The interview over, Robert and I went home, and had much to tell Cherry and Jack.
“Mother,” Jack said wistfully that evening, “do you think there is any more hope for me now—with Maimie?”
I had never told him anything which I knew Maimie herself would not wish to have repeated. But after some thought, I said, “I think there may be a little more hope for you, Jack, perhaps, so far as Maimie herself is concerned—”
“O mother!” he said, in rapture.
“But other difficulties are increased,” I said.
“What difficulties?”
“Uncle Churton—”
“Oh, that is nothing. That doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, if only Maimie herself could be willing—”
“We must have patience,” I said. But I too felt hopeful, even while seeing difficulties ahead more clearly than Jack did.
On the day appointed for the funeral; Robert and I went—not Jack. He could not well get leave of absence that day from his work; and on the whole we were not sorry. It was better that Churton should not yet know his desires with regard to Maimie; and Jack would hardly have failed to betray himself.