"You are ready to believe any evil of her, mother; and yet it is not two years since you yourself wished me to marry her."
"Things are very different since that; very different indeed. And I did not know her then as I do now, or I should never have thought of such a thing, let her have had all the money in the world. She had not misbehaved herself then with that horrible curate."
"She has not misbehaved herself now," said the son, in an angry voice.
"Yes, she has, John," said the mother, in a voice still more angry.
"That's a matter for me to judge. She has not misbehaved herself in my eyes. It is a great misfortune,—a great misfortune for us both,—the conduct of this man; but I won't allow it to be said that it was her fault."
"Very well. Then I suppose I may arrange to go. I did not think, John, that I should be turned out of your father's house so soon after your father's death. I did not indeed."
Thereupon Lady Ball got out her handkerchief, and her son perceived that real tears were running down her face.
"Nobody has ever spoken of your going except yourself, mother."
"I won't live in the house with her."
"And what would you have me do? Would you wish me to let her go her way and starve by herself?"