“You have neglected Elorn Sharrow, and you know it, and it’s on your conscience––whatever else may be on it, too. And that’s partly why you feel blue. So keep out of mischief, darling, and stop neglecting Elorn––that is, if you ever really expect to marry her–––”
“I’ve told you that I have never asked her; and I never intend to ask her until I am making a decent living,” he said impatiently.
“Isn’t there an understanding between you?”
“Why––I don’t think so. There couldn’t be. We’ve never spoken of that sort of thing in our lives!”
“I think she expects you to ask her some day. Everybody else does, anyway.”
“Well, that is the one thing I won’t do,” he said, “––go about with the seat out of my pants and ask an heiress to sew on the patch for me–––”
“Darling! You can be so common when you try!”
“Well, it amounts to that––doesn’t it, mother? I don’t care what busy gossips say or idle people expect me to do! There’s no engagement, no understanding between Elorn and me. And I don’t care a hang what anybody–––”
His mother framed his slightly flushed face between her gloved hands and inspected him humorously.