Bertha Tregaskis, who did not for a moment suppose that Nina had ever tried to think herself a robust woman in her life, laughed also, but with a marked absence of pathos. Before she could frame a further reply, however, they saw Miss Blandflower and her three pupils.
“Who are these like stars appearing?” absently murmured Miss Blandflower, within sight of them. “Run, Hazel dear, there’s mother.”
Nobody ran, and the meeting took place with modified enthusiasm.
Nina Severing, who, in the abstract, adored children, did not find very much to say to them, but interspersed her infrequent remarks, which generally took the form of questions, with numerous ejaculatory “darlings” which gave a tone of intimacy to the proceedings.
“Do you remember Morris, darling?” she amiably inquired of Hazel. “He’s coming back very soon for his Christmas holidays. Won’t that be lovely?”
A month later this agreeable forecast was realized, and Morris Severing was causing his mother acute anxiety in the billiard-room at Pensevern.
“My dearest boy, won’t you believe that I know best?”
“Not in this case,” said her son with an implication unjustified of their joint past, of innumerable other cases in the background where he had unhesitatingly accepted his mother’s judgments.
“My poor romantic darling,” cried the unwise Nina; “because you know nothing of life, nothing, you think that the career of a musician would amuse you, and that it would be all easy success and triumph. But remember that I know, and that a far, far greater talent than yours is necessary to be of any use at all, my poor boy.”
“That isn’t the point,” retorted Morris, white with fury. “I don’t wish to be a popular success. In fact I’m not suggesting a public career at all, for the present, but simply a year or two’s study in Germany.”