turned my back, and stood. He stopped close behind me, a yard or two
away.

"Will you not speak to me?" he said. "It is not my fault I am come."

"Whose fault then, pray?" I rejoined, with difficulty keeping my
position. "Is it mine?"

"My mother's," he answered.

I turned and looked him in the eyes, through the dusk saw that he was
troubled, ran to him, and put my arms about him.

"She has been spying," he said, as soon as he could speak. "She will part
us at any risk, if she can. She is having us watched this very moment,
most likely. She may be watching us herself. She is a terrible woman when
she is for or against anything. Literally, I do not know what she would
not do to get her own way. She lives for her own way. The loss of it
would be to her as the loss of her soul. She will lose it this time
though! She will fail this time--if she never did before!"

"Well," I returned, nowise inclined to take her part, "I hope she will
fail! What does she say?"

"She says she would rather go to her grave than see me your husband."

"Why?"

"Your family seems objectionable to her."