"Oh, no; I'm just talking on general principles. There's no one who would have me now."
The mother did not dispute this. She knew somewhat of his feelings toward Carlia. These lovers' misunderstandings were not serious, she thought to herself. All would end properly and well, in good time.
But Carlia was in Dorian's thought very often, much to his bewilderment of heart and mind. He often debated with himself if he should not definitely give her up, cease thinking about her as being anything to him either now or hereafter; but it seemed impossible to do that. Carlia's image persisted even as Mildred's did. Mildred, away from the entanglements of the world, was safe to him; but Carlia had her life to live and the trials and difficulties of mortality to encounter and to overcome; and that would not be easy, with her beauty and her impulsive nature. She needed a man's clear head and steady hand to help her, and who was more fitting to do that than he himself, Dorian thought without conscious egotism.
If it were possible, Dorian always spent Sunday at home. If he was on his dry farm in the hills, he drove down on Saturday evenings. One Saturday in midsummer, he arrived home late and tired. He put up his team, came in, washed, and was ready for the good supper which his mother always had for him. The mother busied herself about the kitchen and the table.
"Come and sit down, mother," urged Dorian.
"What's the fussing about! Everything I need is here on the table.
You're tired, I see. Come, sit down with me and tell me all the news."
"The news? what news!"
"Why, everything that's happened in Green street for the past week. I haven't had a visitor up on the farm for ten days."
"Everything is growing splendidly down here. The water in the canal is holding out fine and Brother Larsen is fast learning to be a farmer."
"Good," said Dorian. "Our dry wheat is in most places two feet high, and it will go from forty to fifty bushels, with good luck. If now, the price of wheat doesn't sag too much."