"You know, mother," he said to her, "Gyp's shallow. Nothing goes deep with her."
"William, I wish you wouldn't say these things," said Mrs. Morel, very uncomfortable for the girl who walked beside her.
"But it doesn't, mother. She's very much in love with me now, but if I died she'd have forgotten me in three months."
Mrs. Morel was afraid. Her heart beat furiously, hearing the quiet bitterness of her son's last speech.
"How do you know?" she replied. "You don't know, and therefore you've no right to say such a thing."
"He's always saying these things!" cried the girl.
"In three months after I was buried you'd have somebody else, and I should be forgotten," he said. "And that's your love!"
Mrs. Morel saw them into the train in Nottingham, then she returned home.
"There's one comfort," she said to Paul—"he'll never have any money to marry on, that I am sure of. And so she'll save him that way."
So she took cheer. Matters were not yet very desperate. She firmly believed William would never marry his Gipsy. She waited, and she kept Paul near to her.