She kissed him, so sweetly, with such self-surrender, that he asked himself, humbly and gratefully, “Am I worthy of her?” And behind the question rankled the fact that he had doubted her strength of character and ability to rise above conventions rigorously imposed since her childhood. He heard her soft voice, so beguiling:
“I suppose you know that Mother loves me very dearly?”
He laughed, pressing her to him.
“Well, I think I can guess what sort of strangle-hold you have on her.”
“Since Brian died she has been so tender to me, and more dependent. And I’m all she has.” She sighed a little.
“You would like to spare me,” he said. “Your mother is not very likely to love me.”
“If she knew you as I do, she would consent to our marriage.”
“Would she? Um! My time this morning is not my own, darling. Let’s hear your little plan.”
“I want you to make love to Mother. You never half wooed me. But I’ll forgive you, if you woo her. You must woo her.”
“But she doesn’t give me many opportunities. And, you see, I’m no courtier.”