“Margie,” she once said to me, “there is good in Mr. Cloyster. He is not for ever offering to pass me things.” Time had not caused her to modify this opinion. She received our news calmly, and inquired into James’s means and prospects. James had forty pounds and some odd silver. I had nothing.
The key-note of my mother’s contribution to our conference was, “Wait.”
“You are both young,” she said.
She then kissed me, smiled contemplatively at James, and resumed her book.
When we were alone, “My darling,” said James, “we must wait. Tomorrow I catch the boat for Weymouth. I shall go straight to London. My first manuscript shall be in an editor’s hands on Wednesday morning. I will go, but I will come back.”
I put my arms round his neck.
“My love,” I said, “I trust you. Go. Always remember that I know you will succeed.”
I kissed him.
“And when you have succeeded, come back.”