"Oh!" Persis resumed her sewing, with heightened color.
"Yes. I used to think he was as crazy about that woman as anybody could well be, but that wasn't to be named in the same day with the state he's in now. He goes around as if he was in a sort of daze. Sometimes I have to ask him three times over if he'll have another helping of pie."
"Well, it may not be sensible, Mis' West, but it's nature. I guess there's nothing to do except put up with it."
"But, Persis, she's so young."
"She's younger than her mother, that's sure. And that's in her favor."
"And she's Annabel Sinclair's daughter."
"Well, that's better'n if she was somebody's wife."
"It's easy for you to make light of it, Persis. But if he was your boy—" Mrs. West produced a voluminous handkerchief from about her person, hid her face in its folds and sobbed.
"If he was my boy, Mis' West, I guess I'd act as foolish as other mothers. But seeing he ain't, I can look at the affair kind of detached and sensible. I don't suppose you're especially set up over the idea of Diantha Sinclair for a daughter-in-law, but if mothers picked out wives for their sons, there'd be mighty few girls who'd pass muster, and the balance would have to settle down to be old maids."
"It isn't that I don't think anybody's good enough for Thad," said Mrs.
West in hasty disclaimer. "I can see his faults fast enough."