"A friendly attachment! In words, perhaps. But—oh, my poor blind son! Jonathan, sit here beside me."
He went to her and sat down by her side. She took both his hands. And her voice was very gentle.
"You are in love with her, are you not?"
"Yes," he said.
"Then press your suit quickly, my son."
"But I can't—you must see that. I am her employer. She is dependent on me. It would put her in a distressing position."
"I approve of your delicacy. Not many men display it in these greedy days, I am told. But delicacy can be carried to excess. Women love to be wooed strongly, masterfully. I remember how your father—"
"My father was equipped for masterfulness. I," he smiled sadly, "am not."
"You are small, I know, like me. I had hoped my son would be tall."
She sighed. "But many small men have been great and strong."
"You don't understand. Mother, you have been blessed—you have never had to look on your son. That is why I never let you touch my face. I am more than merely small. I am ugly. I am ridiculous. I am almost grotesque. People smile in amusement when they see me and never take me seriously."