“How can I help it, darling?” tenderly asked Nina. “My heart is breaking for you.”
Morris, who was inclined to suppose that a monopoly of broken hearts was his, at least for the time being, could do no less than turn away with a stifled groan, indicating a heartbreak beside which Nina’s could not hope to rank.
It might have been Mrs. Severing’s perception of this which caused her to remark with some decision:
“You will never, never know, Morris, till you have children of your own, what it is to see them suffer. It is all so infinitely more bitter than any grief of one’s own—but the young don’t know—they don’t know.”
She broke off with one of those smiles which are sadder than tears—an impression which Mrs. Severing could at all times convey with great accuracy.
“My youth is over,” said Morris with profound bitterness. Rather to his surprise, Nina repressed the obvious retort, and contented herself with a faint sigh, expressing many things.
Morris felt encouraged to a further display of feeling.
“I must get out of this place, mother,” he declared with an abandon of recklessness that almost turned the luxurious Towers into a medieval dungeon with every drawbridge up and guarded.
“Yes, my darling.”
“I—I can’t quite stand being so near her,” groaned Morris.