She paused, still smiling at him. Then, holding up her head, she spoke the words which he desired to hear above all others:
“My son has chosen the right wife.”
The effect of them upon Fishpingle was startling and disconcerting. Colour flowed into his cheeks; his eyes sparkled; his voice broke with emotion.
“You—you say that. And I doubted. I dared to doubt. May God forgive me!”
“My sympathies are with Alfred, Lionel, and you.”
“Master Lionel let you tell me that. How good of him!”
Her tones deepened:
“But I know my husband. I know his strength and his weakness. He will not surrender to any arguments or entreaties of mine, although he loves me dearly. He is saturated with a sense of his own undivided responsibilities. He believes that he is acting according to his lights. He believes that I think as he does. He believes, poor dear fellow! that at this moment I am pulverising you.”
Fishpingle gasped out: “You are.”
“What can you mean, Ben?”