She had schooled herself, too, as to the way in which she would speak to him on the occasion, and how she would remain mistress of herself and of her thoughts. But when the time came the difficulty was almost too much for her.
“You do not care much for dancing, if I remember?” said he.
“Oh yes, I do. Not as Patty Coverdale does. It’s a passion with her. But then I am older than Patty Coverdale.” After that he was silent for a minute or two.
“It seems so odd to me to be here again,” he said. It was odd;—she felt that it was odd. But he ought not to have said so.
“Two years make a great difference. The boys have grown so much.”
“Yes, and there are other things,” said he.
“Bella was never here before; at least not with you.”
“No. But I did not exactly mean that. All that would not make the place so strange. But your mother seems altered to me. She used to be almost like my own mother.”
“I suppose she finds that you are a more formidable person as you grow older. It was all very well scolding you when you were a clerk in the bank, but it does not do to scold the manager. These are the penalties men pay for becoming great.”
“It is not my greatness that stands in my way, but—”