"That was a mistake," I answered. "Her Christian name is Olivia; I do not know what her surname is."
"Not know even her name!" she exclaimed.
"Listen, mother," I said; and then I told her all I knew about Olivia, and drew such a picture of her as I had seen her, as made my mother smile and sigh deeply in turns.
"But she may be an adventuress; you know nothing about her," she objected. "Surely, you cannot love a woman you do not esteem?"
"Esteem!" I repeated. "I never thought whether I esteemed Olivia, but I am satisfied I love her. You may be quite sure she is no adventuress. An adventuress would not hide herself in Tardif's out-of-the-world cottage."
"A girl without friends and without a name!" she sighed; "a runaway from her family and home! It does not look well, Martin."
I could answer nothing, and it would be of little use to try. I saw when my mother's prejudices could blind her. To love any one not of our own caste was a fatal error in her eyes.
"Does Julia know all this?" she asked.
"She has not heard a word about Olivia," I answered. "As soon as I told her I loved some one else better than her, she bade me begone out of her sight. She has not an amiable temper."
"But she is an upright, conscientious, religious woman," she said, somewhat angrily. "She would never have run away from her friends; and we know all about her. I cannot think what your father will say, Martin. It has given him more pleasure and satisfaction than any thing that has happened for years. If this marriage is broken off, it upsets every thing."