"Ah, that is where wisdom comes in," she said. "You have not only to choose and to do what you like, but to choose that which your reason dictates, that which you know is really advantageous for you. Life would be a very simple matter if one only followed one's inclinations. It is a lesson one cannot learn too early."
There was a short pause, in which Mrs. Brereton passed in rapid summary to herself all the occasions she could remember on which she had not followed her inclination. It seemed to her that there were an immense number; she was always doing kind things, and the pause would have been a long one had not Maud broken it.
"I suppose you mean that you want me to marry Anthony Maxwell!" she remarked in a perfectly even voice.
This was an occasion on which her mother was absolutely unable to decide whether Maud's disconcerting directness sprang from internal and childlike simplicity or a brutally frank insight into the diplomacy of others. But she put the best construction possible on it.
"Dear Maud," she exclaimed effusively, "it is too dear of you to meet me halfway like that. To tell you the truth, I was a little shy about opening the subject to you, as I did not know what you thought; but it is much easier for me to talk about it now."
"Much," said Maud.
"To think that you should have guessed!" said the other; "but you always were so quick."
"It did not need much quickness after my prolonged conversation with him last night."
"So you had a good talk to him," said Mrs. Brereton. "I am so glad."
Maud raised her eyebrows.