He watched her with growing anxiety, and felt that he would do anything to stop her tears. In the tension of the moment, he sought to relieve his own intense discomfort, and at all costs to stop his mother’s weeping, by an impulsive suggestion.
“Come too! Why on earth shouldn’t you? The Nina Severing would be an enormous asset—you know they love your stuff over there.”
He saw with thankfulness that her tears had stopped, and hurried on eagerly:
“Carrol wants someone to chaperone the two girls—those two who are going to do the violin duets, you know—and of course your name would be an immense draw.”
“Oh, Morris! It’s nonsense. How could I leave this place to look after itself?”
Morris became aware that his project was being met with a tacit acceptance. Material objections had never yet stayed any progress of Nina’s.
“Easily!” he declared lightly. “You’d simply love it—and we needn’t be tied to Carrol’s show after the three months are up. We’d come home on our own, or stay out there for a bit.”
“I should be glad to leave England behind me,” said Nina recklessly, and for no reason save the sensation of weariness induced by tears. “And so would you.”
“Yes,” Morris declared vehemently. “Thankful. Look here, I’m going to telegraph to Carrol and you’ll see what an enthusiastic answer he’ll send.”
“La vie de Bohème once more!” murmured the mistress of Pensevern, with more appreciation of the sentence than its truth warranted. No life of Bohemia had ever been, or ever would be, Nina Severing’s, but her son knew by the phrase that he need fear no further display of emotion.