Part 39 (2/2)
”As she is, with all her ambitions una.s.suaged?”
”To marry _you_--might not that be an ambition?”
”A very paltry one. Don't answer for her, don't attempt that,” said Peter. ”You can do much better.”
”Do you think _you_ can?” smiled Mrs. Rooth.
”I don't want to; I only want to let it alone. She's an artist; you must give her her head,” the young man pursued. ”You must always give an artist his head.”
”But I've known great ladies who were artists. In English society there's always a field.”
”Don't talk to me of English society! Thank goodness, in the first place, I don't live in it. Do you want her to give up her genius?” he demanded.
”I thought you didn't care for it.”
”She'd say, 'No I thank you, dear mamma.'”
”My wonderful child!” Mrs. Rooth almost comprehendingly murmured.
”Have you ever proposed it to her?”
”Proposed it?”
”That she should give up trying.”
Mrs. Rooth hesitated, looking down. ”Not for the reason you mean. We don't talk about love,” she simpered.
”Then it's so much less time wasted. Don't stretch out your hand to the worse when it may some day grasp the better,” Peter continued. Mrs.
Rooth raised her eyes at him as if recognising the force there might be in that, and he added: ”Let her blaze out, let her look about her. Then you may talk to me if you like.”
”It's very puzzling!” the old woman artlessly sighed.
He laughed again and then said: ”Now don't tell me I'm not a good friend.”
”You are indeed--you're a very n.o.ble gentleman. That's just why a quiet life with you----”
”It wouldn't be quiet for _me_!” he broke in. ”And that's not what Miriam was made for.”
”_Don't say that_ for my precious one!” Mrs. Rooth quavered.
”Go to London--go to London,” her visitor repeated.
Thoughtfully, after an instant, she extended her hand and took from the table the letter on the composition of which he had found her engaged.
Then with a quick movement she tore it up. ”That's what Mr. Dashwood says.”
”Mr. Dashwood?”
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