Lizzie shrank from the idea.
‘Oh, no! She has nothing to do with me. Please suggest something else.’
‘Poor mite! she seems to have nothing to do with any one. She is a little blot upon the universe. But she is God’s own child. Suppose we call her after His mother.’
‘Mary! Yes, I like that idea. What is your mother’s name, Captain Norris?’
‘The same. I was thinking partly of her when I spoke.’
‘Then I shall like the name doubly for her sake. I am sure she must be a good woman, to have borne such a son as you are.’
‘I am afraid that is not much recommendation for her, Lizzie,’ returned Hugh Norris, laughing. ‘But she is a good woman—the best woman I have ever known—for all that. And how she would love you! How I wish you knew her: you would get on so well together.’
‘How can you tell that?’
‘Because you have the same tastes. My mother is quite a doctor in her way; and all the country people believe in her immensely. Only she is a herbalist, and does not approve of strong drugs. Since my father died, and her sons have gone out into the world, she has lived alone in a cottage in the sweetest spot of Kent you have ever seen; and she is beloved of the whole country-side. But I wish there was some one to live with her, now she is getting old. She has never had a daughter, my dear old mother! How she would love and cherish one!’
‘How many brothers have you?’ asked Lizzie, trying to run away from the dangerous subject.