“I may be like my father in some ways,” he answered. “But I’m a good deal like you too, mother. I’m rather apt to stick to what I like, you know. Besides, I don’t believe you would do anything of the kind. And she isn’t inclined to like me, as it is. I believe she must have heard some story or other. Don’t make things any worse than they are.”
“Then don’t lose your head and ask her to marry you after a fortnight’s acquaintance, Brook, because she’ll accept you, and you will make her perfectly wretched.”
He saw that it was not always possible to argue with his mother, and he said nothing more. But he reflected upon her point of view, and he saw that it was not altogether unjust, as she knew him. She could not possibly understand that what he felt for Clare Bowring bore not the slightest resemblance to what he had felt for Lady Fan, if, indeed, he had felt anything at all, which he considered doubtful now that it was over, though he would have been angry enough at the suggestion a month earlier. To tell the truth, he felt quite sure of himself at the present time, though all his sensations were more or less new to him. And his mother’s sudden and rather eccentric opposition unexpectedly strengthened his determination. He might laugh at what he called her originality, but he could not afford to jest at the prospect of her giving Clare an account of his life. She was quite capable of it, and would probably do it.
These preoccupations, however, were as nothing compared with the main point—the certainty that Clare would refuse him, if he offered himself to her, and when he left his mother he was in a very undetermined state of mind. If he should ask Clare to marry him now, she would refuse him. But if his mother interfered, it would be much worse a week hence.
At last, as ill-luck would have it, he came upon her unexpectedly in the corridor, as he came out, and they almost ran against each other.
“Won’t you come out for a bit?” he asked quickly and in a low voice.
“Thanks—I have some letters to write,” answered the young girl. “Besides, it’s much too hot. There isn’t a breath of air.”
“Oh, it’s not really hot, you know,” said Brook, persuasively.
“Then it’s making a very good pretence!” laughed Clare.
“It’s ever so much cooler out of doors. If you’ll only come out for one minute, you’ll see. Really—I’m in earnest.”