‘So it is,’ he said; ‘not to leave you, mother; but to feel that I am doing something, not merely learning or enjoying myself.’
‘Edward is quite right,’ said Mr. Beresford. ‘It is by far the most worthy feeling for a young man.’
But Edward did not take this friendly support in a good spirit; he darted a half-savage glance at his backer-up.
‘Oh, if you take it in that light, that is not what I meant,’ he said. ‘I am not of that noble strain. It is not pure disinterestedness. I think it is a pity only to lose one’s advantages, and I should have some advantages of connection and that sort of thing. At least, I suppose so; and it is what is called a fine career.’
‘Yes, it is a fine career.’
‘If it is fine to separate yourself from all you care for in the world,’ cried Mrs. Meredith, ‘from all who care for you—not only must we be left behind, but when you have got beyond me, when you have a family of your own——’
‘Which I never shall have, mother.’
‘Nonsense! boys and girls say so, and end just like others; even your own, your very own must be taken from you. You must give up everything—and you call that a fine career.’
‘Men do, if women don’t,’ said the young man, not looking at her. His heart was so wrung and sore that he could not keep the gloom off his face.
‘And you don’t care what women think? You might have put off that lesson till you were a little older. At your age what your mother thinks should surely be something to you still.’