"Iver is a child no longer," said Mehetabel. "You must not expect of him more than he can give. What you said to me about a husband is true also of a child. Of course, he loves you, but he does not show it as fully as you desire. He has something else now to fill his heart beside a mother."
"What is that?" asked Mrs. Verstage, nervously.
"His art," answered Mehetabel.
"Oh, that!" The landlady was not wholly satisfied, she stood up and said with a sigh, "I fancy life be much like one o' them bran pies at a bazaar. Some pulls out a pair of braces as don't wear trousers, and others pull out garters as wears nuthin' but socks. 'Tis a chance if you get wot's worth havin. Well, I must go look out another sheet in place of that Polly has burnt."
"Let me do that, mother."
"No, as you may remember, I have always managed the linen myself."
A few minutes later, after she had left the room, Iver returned.
He had escaped from the visitors on some excuse.
His heart was a prey to vague yearnings and doubts.
With pleasure he observed that his mother was no longer in the kitchen. He saw Mehetabel hastily dry her eyes. He knew that she had been crying, and he thought he could divine the cause.
"You are going to Guildford to-morrow morning, are you not?" she asked hastily.