"Will you not tell me?" he spoke in a lower voice.
"I shall offend you."
"You cannot offend me."
"When I love—if I love—it must be a man," she said, and her face glowed, "a man who does not require the guidance of a weak girl, but who does what he has to do from a high sense of right, who has high aims, who is above me in all things."
"This is folly!" he exclaimed angrily; "you would ruin all my happiness from some vague and ideal sense of right. You will never meet with this ideal. All men will look up to you, beautiful Margaret. You will never find one above you."
"Perhaps not," she said, "but then I will never love."
They parted, she grieved but firm, and he miserable and dispirited. He felt the truth of much that she said, and was sufficiently in love to think her just while he deemed her cruel.
"Had my mother acted differently," he thought, with bitterness, "had she made me play a man's part!" and then a blush of shame rose to his face. "Why blame her? Was this worthy?" He strode off and sought in rapid motion to still his disappointment. No one must ever know, and Margaret was so young. At some future time, perhaps.
Thus it happened that when poor Lady Lyons gave him her well-meant caution his laugh was full of bitterness.
She noticed, however, and took great credit to herself for having so influenced him that her son avoided Margaret; and not in the least understanding, simply thinking that he was following her advice, she thought that his avoidance was perhaps too marked. Mother-like she must interfere a little, he should draw back but not so pointedly as to make going forward impossible; supposing....