So the subject was opened up. Bob could only ask, "What things?" and his mother could only tell him.
"It's quite true, old lady," he confessed. "You might as well know it first as last."
Junia had not brought up her children without having learned that, while Edith could be controlled, Bob could only be managed. With Edith, she could say, "I forbid," with Bob, it had to be, "I suffer."
"Of course, dear," she said now, "I'm your mother, and whatever you do I shall try to accept. It will be hard, naturally—it's hard already—but you can count on me."
He took her hand and squeezed it.
"Thanks, old lady."
"Of course I can't answer for your father. You know for yourself how stern and unyielding he is."
"Oh, I'm not so sure about that. It's always seemed to me that he'd give in to a lot of things, if you'd only let him."
This perspicacity being dangerous, she glided to another aspect of her theme.
"What I don't understand is why, if you've been in love with her for seven or eight months, and you mean to marry her, you haven't done it already."