"In what way, my son? Explain yourself."
"You know I met Miss Armstrong at Oxford, mother, and on the evening before she left I said something to her under an impulse I could not resist, and now I regret it."
"On what account?"
"Because I have written to ask her father's consent to make her my wife, and he has refused me. Don't tell me I am a fool," he added, seeing her about to speak, "I know it now. What have I to offer as an equivalent to a young lady with such superior attractions and accomplishments as Mary Armstrong, setting aside the large fortune which her father can give her?"
"Does he write kindly?" asked the mother, whose heart ached for her son.
"Yes, and sensibly; here is the letter;" and he took Mr. Armstrong's letter from the desk and handed it to her.
She read it and returned it to him in silence.
"You will not allow this disappointment to interfere with your future intentions, Henry?"
"No, indeed," he replied, "I am throwing off the memory of my folly by degrees, and I own I am relieved by telling you all about it. I am not vain enough to suppose that Miss Armstrong will be influenced by the impulsive, unmeaning words I said to her, so there is no harm done. I have no doubt little Freddy was removed to prevent the possibility of any further intercourse. So ends my first and last dream of love."
"Better so, my son, better so, both for your sake and Miss Armstrong's. I quite agree with Mr. Armstrong about long courtship. You would not be in a position to marry for three or four years at the earliest, and not even then to such a girl as Miss Armstrong unless you had a living of some real value."