bidding, or intending to bid her, farewell.
Hush--remember, this is from _her_ point of view."

Peter had started to his feet with an angry exclamation; but he sat
down again, and bent his sullen gaze on the garden path as John
continued. His brown face was flushed; but John's low, deep tones,
now tender, now scornful, presently enchained and even fascinated his
attention. He listened intently, though angrily.

"Her grief was passionate, but--her life was not over," said John.
"She, who had been guided from childhood by the wishes of others, now
found that, without neglecting any duty, she could consult her own
inclinations, indulge her own tastes, choose her own friends, enjoy
with all the fervour of an unspoilt nature the world which opened
freshly before her: a world of art, of music, of literature, of a
thousand interests which mean so much to some of us, so little to
others. To her returns this formerly undutiful son, and finds--a
passionately devoted mother, indeed, but also a woman in the full
pride of her beauty and maturity. And this boy would condemn
_her_--the most delightful, the most attractive, the most unselfish
companion ever desired by a man--to sit in the chimney-corner like an
old crone with a distaff, throughout all the years that fate may yet
hold in store for her--with no greater interest in life than to watch
the fading of her own sweet face in the glass, and to await the
intervals during which he would be graciously pleased to afford her
the consolation of his presence."

"Have you done?" said Peter, furiously.

"I could say a good deal more," said John, growing suddenly cool.
"But"--he showed his watch--"my time is up."

"What--what do you mean by all this?" said the boy, stammering with
passion. "What is my mother to _you_?"

The time had come.

John's bright hazel eyes had grown stern; his middle-aged face,
flushed with the emotion his own words had aroused, yet controlled and
calm in every line of handsome feature and steady brow, confronted
Peter's angry, bewildered gaze.

"She is the woman I love," said John. "The woman I mean to make my
wife."

He remained seated, silently waiting for Peter to imbibe and
assimilate his words.

After a quick gasp of incredulous indignation, Peter, too, sat silent
at his side.

John gave him time to recover before he spoke again.

"I hope," he said, very gently, "that when you have thought it over,
you won't mind it so much. As it's going to