"Like? She is dead!" said he, rather falteringly.

I pressed his arm closer to mine.

"I understand you," said he, with his cynic, repellent smile. "But you
do wrong to feel for my loss. I feel for it; but no one who cares for
me should sympathize with my grief."

"Why?"

"Because my mother was not what the world would call a good woman. I
did not love her the less for that. And now let us change the subject."

"Nay; since you have said so much, Vivian, let me coax you to say on.
Is not your father living?"

"Is not the Monument standing?"

"I suppose so; what of that?"

"Why, it matters very little to either of us; and my question answers
yours."

I could not get on after this, and I never did get on a step further. I
must own that if Vivian did not impart his confidence liberally, neither
did he seek confidence inquisitively from me. He listened with interest
if I spoke of Trevanion (for I told him frankly of my connection with
that personage, though you may be sure that I said nothing of Fanny),
and of the brilliant world that my residence with one so distinguished
opened to me. But if ever, in the fulness of my heart, I began to speak