“Mathilde,” he said, “it’s far and sudden, and we shall be poor, and I can’t promise that I shall succeed more than other fellows; and yet against all that—”
She looked at him.
“You don’t think I care for those things? I don’t care if you succeed or fail, or live all your life in Siam.”
“What is it, then?”
“Pete, it’s my mother. She would never consent.”
Wayne was aware of this, but, then, as he pointed out to Mathilde with great care, Mrs. Farron could not bear for her daughter the pain of separation.
“Separation!” cried the girl, “But you just said you would not go if I did not.”
“If you put your mother before me, mayn’t I put my profession before you?”
“My dear, don’t speak in that tone.”
“Why, Mathilde,” he said, and he sprang up and stood looking down at her from a little distance, “this is the real test. We have thought we loved each other—”