Then he stood with his legs apart, in his old attitude on the hearthrug, and said hesitatingly: "Well, mother ?" "Well, my son ?" She sat in the rocking-chair, feeling somehow hurt and humiliated, for his sake.
"Do you like her ?" "Yes," came the slow answer.
"She's shy yet, mother.

She's not used to it.

It's different from her aunt's house, you know." "Of course it is, my boy; and she must find it difficult." "She does." Then he frowned swiftly.

"If only she wouldn't put on her BLESSED airs!" "It's only her first awkwardness, my boy.

She'll be all right." "That's it, mother," he replied gratefully.