“Owen marry? Why, he always seems like a faun in flannels! I hope he’s found a dryad. There might easily be one left in these blue-and-gold woods.”
“I can’t tell you yet where he found his dryad, but she is one, I believe: at any rate she’ll become the Givre woods better than I do. Only there may be difficulties——”
“Well! At that age they’re not always to be wished away.”
She hesitated. “Owen, at any rate, has made up his mind to overcome them; and I’ve promised to see him through.”
She went on, after a moment’s consideration, to explain that her step-son’s choice was, for various reasons, not likely to commend itself to his grandmother. “She must be prepared for it, and I’ve promised to do the preparing. You know I always have seen him through things, and he rather counts on me now.”
She fancied that Darrow’s exclamation had in it a faint note of annoyance, and wondered if he again suspected her of seeking a pretext for postponement.
“But once Owen’s future is settled, you won’t, surely, for the sake of what you call seeing him through, ask that I should go away again without you?” He drew her closer as they walked. “Owen will understand, if you don’t. Since he’s in the same case himself I’ll throw myself on his mercy. He’ll see that I have the first claim on you; he won’t even want you not to see it.”
“Owen sees everything: I’m not afraid of that. But his future isn’t settled. He’s very young to marry—too young, his grandmother is sure to think—and the marriage he wants to make is not likely to convince her to the contrary.”
“You don’t mean that it’s like his first choice?”
“Oh, no! But it’s not what Madame de Chantelle would call a good match; it’s not even what I call a wise one.”