"Nonsense, mother," letting her hand go and turning away
impatiently. "You speak as if it were all settled."

"Why should it _not_ be settled?"

"You talk without thinking!" He is frowning now, and his tone is
growing angry. "Am I the only one to be consulted?"

"Oh! as for her--that child! Of course you can influence her."

"I don't want to," wearily.

"You can do more than that. You are very good-looking, Maurice. You
can----" She hesitates.

"Can what?" coldly.

"Fascinate her."

"I shall certainly not even try to do that. Good heavens! what do
you mean?" says her son, colouring a dark red with very shame. "Are
you asking me to make love to this girl--to pretend an admiration
for her that I do not feel? To--to--_lie_ to her?"

"I am only asking you to be sensible," says his mother sullenly. She
has gone back to her chair, and now, with lowered lids and
compressed lips, is fanning herself angrily.

"I shan't be sensible in that way," says her son, very hotly. "Put
it out of your head. To me Miss Bolton (it is really ridiculous to