“I think you’ll meet with a great deal from Alix,” said Giles, aware of restlessness and inquiry beneath the brave parade of Jerry’s words. “I don’t think you’ve a chance of marrying her against your mother’s wishes. Your only chance is to bring your mother round. That will take time. You’ll have to show your mother that you mean it.”
Jerry eyed him for a moment. “Well, Alix is a French girl. She’s rubbing it in enough that she’s French—and she’ll obey her mother. If her mother tells her that she’s to marry me, I expect she will; and I’m pretty sure I could get round madame Vervier. By the way, what sort of a woman is she, really?” Jerry added, and boyishly, touchingly in Giles’s eyes, he suddenly flushed.
Giles was thinking how like wax in madame Vervier’s hands would Jerry be. “She’s a charming woman,” he said.
“Well, of course she’s that,” Jerry assented. “But I mean, is she a lady, all that sort of thing?—Not that I care.”
Giles reflected. “The only person I ever met who reminds me of her is your mother.”
“Mummy?” Jerry stared, indeed.
“They’re not alike at all in what they’ve done; but they are very much alike in what they are. You could count upon madame Vervier as you could count upon your own mother. She’d always know what to do. If you and Alix married, she’d never trouble you.”
“You mean she’d give up Alix if it was for her happiness?”
“Absolutely. What she wants most is Alix’s happiness. Your difficulty wouldn’t be at any time with madame Vervier, but with Alix herself.”
“She wouldn’t give her mother up, you mean?”