For Michael somehow the conventional expression seemed to disturb the divinity of his mother’s carven woe. The world suddenly intervened.
“Well, I don’t think I ought to wait for ever,” said Stella.
“Darling child, I wonder why you should think it necessary to exaggerate so foolishly,” said Mrs. Fane.
“But I’m so longing to begin,” Stella went on.
“I don’t know that anybody has ever suggested you shouldn’t begin,” Mrs. Fane observed. “But there is a difference between your recklessness and my more carefully considered plans.”
“Mother, will you agree to a definite date?” Stella demanded.
“By all means, dear child, if you will try to be a little less boisterous and impetuous. For one thing, I never knew you were ready to begin at once like this.”
“Oh, mother, after all these years and years of practising!” Stella protested.
“But are you ready?” Mrs. Fane enquired in soft surprize. “Really ready? Then why not this autumn? Why not October?”
“Before I go up to Oxford,” said Michael quickly.