"Never mind. You've not seen him. I'm glad he found Sarah wasn't for sale. But doesn't all this look as if it were Peter, after all?"
"If only I could think she were in earnest," Lady Mary said again. "But he is such a boy. She has three times his cleverness in some ways, and three times his experience, though she is younger than he. I suppose women mature much earlier than men. It galls my pride when she orders him about, and laughs at him. But he—he doesn't understand."
"Perhaps," said John, slowly, "he understands better than you think. Each generation has a freemasonry of its own. I must confess I have heard scraps of chatter and chaff in ballrooms and theatres which have filled me with amazement, wondering how it could be possible that such poor stuff should pass muster as conversation, or coquetry, or gallantry, with the youths and maidens of to-day. But when I have observed further, instead of an offended fair, or a disillusioned swain, behold! two young heads close together, two young faces sparkling with smiles and satisfaction. And the older person, who would fatuously join in with a sensible remark, spoils all the enjoyment. The fact is, the secret of real companionship is not quality, but equality. There's a punning platitude for you."
"It may be a platitude, but I am beginning to discover that what are called platitudes by the young are biting truths to the old," said Lady Mary. "I've felt it a thousand times. Words come so easily to my lips when I'm speaking to you, I am so certain you will understand and respond. But with Peter, I sometimes feel as though I were dumb or stupid. Perhaps you've been too—too kind; you've understood too quickly. I've been too ready to believe that you've found me—"
"Everything I wanted to find you," interrupted John, tenderly; "and that was something quite out of the common."
She smiled and shook her head. "I am ready to believe all the nice things you can say, as fast as you can say them, when I am with you" she said, with a raillery rather mournful than gay. "But when I am with Peter, I seem to realize dreadfully that I'm only a middle-aged woman of average capacity, and with very little knowledge of the world. He does his best to teach me. That's funny, isn't it?"
"It's very like—a very young man," said John, gently.
"You mustn't think I'm mocking at my boy—like Sarah," she said vehemently. "Perhaps I am wrong to tell you. Perhaps only a mother would really understand. But it makes me a little sad and bewildered. My boy—my little baby, who lay in my arms and learnt everything from me. And now he looks down and lectures me from such an immense height of superiority, never dreaming that I'm laughing in my heart, because it's only little Peter, after all."
"And he doesn't lecture Sarah?"
"Oh no; he doesn't lecture Sarah. She is too young to be lectured with impunity, and too wise. Besides, I think since he went away, and saw Sarah flattered and spoilt, and queening it among the great people who didn't know him even by sight, that he has realized that their relative positions have changed a good deal. You see, little Sarah Hewel, as she used to be, would have been making quite a great match in marrying Peter. But Lady Tintern's adopted daughter and heiress—old Tintern left an immense fortune to his wife, didn't he?—is another matter altogether. And how could she settle down to this humdrum life after all the excitement and gaiety she's been accustomed to?"