“Man? What man?”
“You think you are in love with some drivelling young Fool. I’m not blind, or an idot. And I won’t have it.”
“I have not said that there is anyone, have I?” I said in a gentle voice. “But if there was, just what would you propose to do, mother?”
“If you were three years younger I’d propose to spank you.” Then I think she saw that she was taking the wrong method, for she changed her Tactics. “It’s the fault of that Silly School,” she said. (Note: These are my mother’s words, not mine.) “They are hot-beds of sickley sentamentality. They——”
And just then the violets came, addressed to me. Mother opened them herself, her mouth set.
“My love is like a white, white rose,” she said. “Barbara, do you know who sent these?”
“Yes, mother,” I said meekly. This was quite true. I did.
I am indeed sorry to record that here my mother lost her temper, and there was no end of a fuss. It ended by mother offering me a string of seed pearls for Christmas, and my party dresses cut V front and back, if I would, as she phrazed it, “put him out of my silly head.”
“I shall have to write one letter, mother,” I said, “to—to break things off. I cannot tear myself out of another’s Life without a word.”
She sniffed.