"Are you sure you are wise, my child?" said Brenda earnestly, when first discussing it with her adopted daughter. "You know we have always spoken out frankly to each other. Don't let us forego that habit. Tell me plainly. You care for Lance deeply? He's a charming fellow, I know, but weak. Have you realised that he is weak, Melicent?"
"I don't like strong men," said the girl, with a perceptible shudder. "There's something brutal about all strength, even moral strength. I fear it."
This speech deepened the darkness in which Brenda groped. She could not fathom it.
"Of course I understand his feeling for you," she said slowly. "You are just the woman for him, and he has penetration to see it—"
"But you won't give me the credit for like penetration? Why shouldn't I see it too? Isn't that kind of thing generally mutual?"
"Well, if you tell me it is so ... but it seems to me so rapid."
"It was unexpected to me," said Melicent thoughtfully. "I did ask him to give me time to think. But he seemed so sure. You know, mater, I don't think I should ever smile and cry and bill and coo. I'm not that kind. But I know I like Lance better than anybody else. If I find that we don't get on, I could break it off, you know."
"Lady Burmester would never forgive that."
"Oh, bother Lady Burmester!"
"There! That's the mood I distrust!" cried Brenda. "Melicent, you're behaving like a child! You will have to consider your husband's relations, and especially his mother! This is real life, remember. You are not going away to live in an enchanted castle."