"Did it hurt you very much?" Jenny asked quietly.
"Yes, at the time. I did not quite get over it till I came here, but I think it was mostly my pride that suffered. Don't you think that if I had loved her really, I should have wished her to be happy when she married another? But I didn't."
"It would have been almost too unselfish and noble," said Jenny, smiling.
"Oh, I don't know. That is how you ought to feel if you really love. Don't you think it is strange that mothers never care for their sons' sweethearts? They never do."
"I suppose a mother thinks no woman is good enough for her boy."
"When a daughter gets engaged it is quite different. I saw that in the case of my sister and the fat, red-haired cleargyman. There was never much sympathy between my sister and myself, but when I saw that fellow making love to her, and thought that he … Ugh!
"I sometimes think women who have been married some time become more cynical than we men ever are. They don't give themselves away, but you notice it all the same. Marriage to them means merely business. When a daughter marries they are pleased to have her saddled on to some one who can feed and clothe her, and if she has to put up with the shady side of marriage in return, it's not worth making a fuss about. But if a son takes upon himself the same kind of burden for a similar return, they are not so enthusiastic about it. Don't you think there is something in it?"
"Sometimes," said Jenny.
When she came home that evening she lit the lamp and sat down to write to her mother to thank her for the birthday greetings and tell her how she had spent the day.
She laughed at herself for having been so solemn the night before. Heaven knows, she had had difficulties and been lonely, but so had most of the young people she knew. Some
