‘My dear boy!—of course, wherever I have a roof, there is a place for you.’
‘Very well, mother; this is the place. You don’t want me to go off and live in chambers?’
‘Not unless—you think it necessary; unless—you would like it better, Edward. Oh, I hope not, my dear!’
‘So do I,’ he said, smiling. ‘I hope you don’t mean to turn me out for the sake of something you can afford. We must live together, mother, you and I. I can’t be idle; you know, I must do something; and all the pleasure I shall ever get out of life,’ he added, with the solemnity of youthful conviction, ‘will be to find my home always the same—and my mother. I look for no other happiness.’
‘My dear,’ she said, ‘that is all very well at present, till you see someone who is dearer to you than either your mother or your home. That will come some time; but in the meantime, dear——’
‘The meantime will be always, mother—the other time will never come.’
Mrs. Meredith gave him a sudden look—then checked herself when about to say something, sighed a little, and made a pause; and then she began to talk on another subject between which and this there seemed little connection, though Edward perceived the connection easily enough.
‘We shall have it all to ourselves apparently,’ she said, with a faint smile. ‘Oswald, I suppose, will be thinking of a house for himself; and why should he wait? There is no reason why he should wait. To be sure, they are young. Has he said anything to you, Edward?’
‘Nothing, mother.’
‘Well; they must have their reasons, I presume. One does not like to be left quite out; but it is the thing one ought to expect as one gets old. Old people are supposed not to sympathise with youth. It is a mistake, Edward—a great pity; but I suppose it will be the same as long as the world lasts. I did the same, no doubt, when I was young too.’