“You may say so, indeed,” said Herbert, “unintelligible beings!—till they come to your age, mamma, when you seem to begin to understand. It is all very well for girls to give an account of themselves. What I am surprised at is, that they do not perceive at once the fundamental difference. Reine is a clever girl, and it just shows the strange limitation, even of the cleverest; now I don’t call myself a clever man—I have had a great many disadvantages—but I can perceive at a glance—”
Madame de Mirfleur was infinitely disposed to laugh, or to box her son’s ears; but she was one of those women—of whom there are many in the world—who think it better not to attempt the use of reason, but to ménager the male creatures whom they study so curiously. Both the sexes, indeed, I think, have about the same opinion of each other, though the male portion of the community have found the means of uttering theirs sooner than the other, and got it stereotyped, so to speak. We both think each other “inaccessible to reason,” and ring the changes upon humoring and coaxing the natural adversary. Madame de Mirfleur thought she knew men au fond, and it was not her practice to argue with them. She did not tell Herbert that his mental superiority was not so great as he thought it. She only smiled, and said gently, “It is much more facile to perceive the state of affairs when it is to our own advantage, mon fils. It is that which gives your eyes so much that is clear. Reine, who is a girl, who has not the same position, it is natural she should not like so much to acknowledge herself to see it. But she could not demand from Everard that he should account for himself. And she will not of you when she has better learned to know—”
“From Everard? Everard is of little importance. I was thinking of myself,” cried Herbert.
“How fortunate it is for me that you have come here! I should not have believed that Reine could be sulky. I am fond of her, of course; but I cannot drag a girl everywhere about with me. Is it reasonable? Women should understand their place. I am sure you do, mamma. It is home that is a woman’s sphere. She cannot move about the world, or see all kinds of life, or penetrate everywhere, like a man; and it would not suit her if she could,” said Herbert, twisting the soft down of his moustache. He was of opinion that it was best for a man to take his place, and show at once that he did not intend to submit to any inquisition; and this, indeed, was what his friends advised, who warned him against petticoat government. “If you don’t mind they’ll make a slave of you,” the young men said. And Herbert was determined to give all who had plans of this description fair notice. He would not allow himself to be made a slave.
“You express yourself with your usual good sense, my son,” said Madame de Mirfleur. “Yes, the home is the woman’s sphere; always I have tried to make this known to my Reine. Is it that she loves the world? I make her enter there with difficulty. No, it is you she loves, and understands not to be separated. She has given up the pleasures that are natural to young girls to be with you when you were ill; and she understands not to be separated now.”
“Bah!” said Herbert, “that is the usual thing which I understand all women say to faire valoir their little services. What has she given up? They would not have been pleasures to her while I was ill; and she ought to understand. It comes back to what I said, mamma. Reine is a clever girl, as girls go—and I am not clever, that I know; but the thing which she cannot grasp is quite clear to me. It is best to say no more about it—you can understand reason, and explain to her what I mean.”
“Yes, chéri,” said Madame de Mirfleur, submissively; then she added, “Monsieur Everard left you at Appenzell? Was he weary of the quiet? or had he cause to go?”
“Why, he had lost his money, and had to look after it—or he thought he had lost his money. Probably, too, he found it slow. There was nobody there, and I was not good for much in those days. He had to be content with Reine. Perhaps he thought she was not much company for him,” said the young man, with a sentiment not unusual in young men toward their sisters. His mother watched him with a curious expression. Madame de Mirfleur was in her way a student of human nature, and though it was her son who made these revelations, she was amused by them all the same, and rather encouraged him than otherwise to speak his mind. But if she said nothing about Reine, this did not mean that she was deceived in respect to her daughter, or with Herbert’s view of the matter. But she wanted to hear all he had to say, and for the moment she looked upon him more as a typical representative of man, than as himself a creature in whose credit she, his mother, was concerned.
“It has appeared to you that this might be the reason why he went away?”
“I never thought much about it,” said Herbert. “I had enough to do thinking of myself. So I have now. I don’t care to go into Everard’s affairs. If he likes to come, he’ll come, I suppose; and if he don’t like, he won’t—that’s all about it—that’s how I would act if it were me. Hallo! why, while we’re talking, here he is! Look here—in that carriage at the door!”