Margaret Maliphant

								

"Well, if you like him so much, why are you sorry that he wants to
marry Joyce?" asked I, boldly.
"I did not say that I was sorry, lass," said father, calmly.
My heart throbbed with pleasant triumph, but the battle was not over
yet.
"Well, Laban, I don't suppose you can say that you're glad," put in
mother, almost tartly, "after what I've heard you say about girls
marrying out of their own class in life."
"Captain Forrester is not rich and idle," said I.
"No," answered mother, scornfully, "he is not rich, you're right enough
there; but he is a good sight more idle than many men who can afford to
keep a wife in comfort. I know your sort of play soldiers that never
see an enemy."
"He's rich enough for a girl of mine," replied father. "As to his being
idle, I hope maybe he's going to do better work saving the lives of
innocent children than he could have done slashing at what are called
the nation's foes."
"Yes, yes," said mother, a trifle impatiently. "I make no doubt you're
right. I've nothing against the young man, but I can't believe, Laban,
as you really mean to say that you'd give your girl to him willingly."
"Well," answered father, "I'm bound to say I'm surprised at the news;
but we old folk are apt to forget that we were young once; and when I
was a lad I loved you, Mary, so we mustn't be hard on the young ones.
It's neither poverty nor riches, nor this nor that, as makes happiness;
it's just love; and if the two love one another, we durstn't interfere."
"I don't understand you, Laban; indeed I don't," cried poor mother,
beside herself with anxiety. "It's not according to what you were
saying a few minutes ago, and you can't say it is."
Father was silent. I suppose he could not help knowing in his heart
that the objections to Captain Forrester must be practically the same
as those to Squire Broderick, with the additional one that he was
almost a stranger to us. But his natural liking for the young man
obscured his vision to plain facts. Father and I were very much alike;
what we wanted to be must be. But when I look back at that point in
our lives, I pity poor mother, who was really the wisest and the most
practical of us all.
"Well, mother, the lass must decide for herself," said father. "She's
of age; she should know her own mind."
"Joyce knows her own mind well enough," said I. "She has told Frank
Forrester that she will marry him subject to your approval."
"I wonder she took the trouble to add so much as that," said mother at
last. "Young folk nowadays have grown so clever they seem to teach us
old folk."
There was a tremor in her voice, and father rose and went across to
her, laying his hand on her shoulder.
"Meg, go and tell your sister to come here," said he in a moment. "You
need not come back."
I was hurt at the dismissal, and I waited in the passage till Joyce
came out from the interview; but her face was very white, and all that