“And then—Jack,” said Katharine, with some hesitation, “after we’ve spoken, you know—what are we going to do?”
“You and I? Why, get married, of course—I mean—as if we were getting married. There won’t be any people nor any cake, nor any gorgeous dress for you—poor dear! But we shall have to pretend, I suppose—go off with your mother and my mother, and as many more mothers as we can pick up, to make us perfectly respectable, and then we shall come back married, and choose a house to live in. That’s the first thing, you know. My mother will never hear of our living with her, now that there’s to be lots of money. She’s much too wise for that. Relations-in-law are just bones for husband and wife to fight over. But of course my mother will come very often.”
“And my mother,” said Katharine.
“Yes—your mother, too,” assented Ralston. “Naturally, they’ll both come. So long as they don’t live with us, we shan’t mind.”
“But you’re very fond of your mother, Jack, aren’t you?” asked Katharine.
“Of course I am. We’re more like brother and sister than anything else. You see, we’ve always been together so much.”
“And yet you’d rather not have her live with us?”
“Certainly not. And she wouldn’t wish to.”
“It’s strange,” said Katharine, thoughtfully. “I don’t think I should mind having my mother with us. She’d be such a comfort when you were down town, you know.”
“Yes,” answered Ralston, in a doubtful tone. “I couldn’t take my mother down town to comfort me at Beman’s, could I?”