“As if that interested me!” said Mrs. Bretton.

“Alas! the cruelty of my lot!” responded her son. “Never man had a more unsentimental mother than mine; she never seems to think that such a calamity can befall her as a daughter-in-law.”

“If I don’t, it is not for want of having that same calamity held over my head; you have threatened me with it for the last ten years. ‘Mamma, I am going to be married soon!’ was the cry before you were well out of jackets.”

“But, mother, one of these days it will be realized. All of a sudden, when you think you are most secure, I shall go forth like Jacob or Esau, or any other patriarch, and take me a wife, perhaps of these which are of the daughters of the land.”

“At your peril, John Graham! that is all.”

“This mother of mine means me to be an old bachelor. What a jealous old lady it is! But now just look at that splendid creature in the pale blue satin dress, and hair of paler brown, with reflets satinés as those of her robe. Would you not feel proud, mamma, if I were to bring that goddess home some day, and introduce her to you as Mrs. Bretton, junior?”

“You will bring no goddess to La Terrasse : that little château will not contain two mistresses; especially if the second be of the height, bulk, and circumference of that mighty doll in wood and wax, and kid and satin.”

“Mamma, she would fill your blue chair so admirably!”

“Fill my chair? I defy the foreign usurper! a rueful chair should it be for her; but hush, John Graham! Hold your tongue, and use your eyes.”