"Well, it won't make her happy never to see the man she loves," cried I; "no, nor yet to have to wait all that time before she can marry him. I've always heard that long engagements were dreadfully bad things for girls."
Mother smiled. "I waited three years for your father," she said, "and I'm a hearty woman of my years."
"Perhaps you were different," suggested I.
"Maybe," assented mother. "Women weren't so forward-coming in my time, to be sure."
"I don't see that Joyce is forward," cried I.
"No, Joyce is seemly behaved if she is let alone. She'll bide her time, I've no doubt," said mother.
I felt the hidden thrust, and it was the more sharply that I replied, "You're so fond of Joyce, I should have thought you wouldn't care to make her suffer."
Mother gave a little sigh. She took no notice of my rude taunt.
"The Lord knows it's hard to know what's best," said she. "But I'd sooner see her pine a bit now than spend her whole life in misery, and there's no misery like that of a home where the love hasn't lasted out."
The earnestness of this speech made me ashamed of my vexation, and it was gently that I said: "But, mother, I don't see why you should think a man must needs be fickle because he falls in love at first sight. I don't see how people who have known one another all their lives think of falling in love. When do they begin?"