"Can't you trust us, mother?" he repeated, rather offended.
"My boy, I tell you I don't believe in leaving two young things like you alone downstairs when everyone else is in bed."
And he was forced to take this answer. He kissed his mother good-night.
At Easter he came over alone. And then he discussed his sweetheart endlessly with his mother.
"You know, mother, when I'm away from her I don't care for her a bit. I shouldn't care if I never saw her again. But, then, when I'm with her in the evenings I am awfully fond of her."
"It's a queer sort of love to marry on," said Mrs. Morel, "if she holds you no more than that!"
"It is funny!" he exclaimed. It worried and perplexed him. "But yet—there's so much between us now I couldn't give her up."
"You know best," said Mrs. Morel. "But if it is as you say, I wouldn't call it love—at any rate, it doesn't look much like it."
"Oh, I don't know, mother. She's an orphan, and——"
They never came to any sort of conclusion. He seemed puzzled and rather fretted. She was rather reserved. All his strength and money went in keeping this girl. He could scarcely afford to take his mother to Nottingham when he came over.