marry a woman who was as brilliant as she was handsome, who counted
among her friends the great men and women of the time, who dwelt in a
world where mediocrity is unknown and likewise unwelcome. Mediocrity's
teeth are sharp only for those who fear them.

Patty was nervous on her mother's account, not her own. It had been a
blow to the mother, who had always hoped to have her boy to herself as
long as she lived. He had never worried her with flirtations; there
had been no youthful affairs. The mother of the boy who is always
falling in love can meet the final blow half-way. Mrs. Bennington had
made an idol of the boy, but at the same time she had made a man of
him. From the time he could talk till he had entered man's estate, she
had been constant at his side, now with wisdom and learning, now with
laughter and wit, always and always with boundless and brooding love.
The first lesson had been on the horror of cruelty; the second, on the
power of truth; the third, on the good that comes from firmness. It is
very easy to make an idol and a fool of a boy; but Mrs. Bennington
always had the future in mind. It was hard, it was bitter, that
another should step in and claim the perfected man. She had been
lulled into the belief that now she would have him all her own till
the end of her days. But it was not to be. Her sense of justice was
evenly balanced; her son had the same right that his father had; it
was natural that he should desire a mate and a home of his own; but,
nevertheless, it was bitter. That his choice had been an actress
caused her no alarm. Her son was a gentleman; he would never marry
beneath him; it was love, not infatuation; and love is never love
unless it can find something noble and good to rest upon. It was not
the actress, no; the one great reiterating question was: did this
brilliant woman love her son? Was it the man or his money? She had
gone to New York to meet Miss Challoner. She had steeled her heart
against all those subtle advances, such as an actress knows how to
make. She had gone to conquer, but had been conquered. For when Kate
Challoner determined to charm she was not to be resisted. She had gone
up to the mother and daughter and put her arms around them. "I knew
that I should love you both. How could I help it? And please be kind
to me: God has been in giving me your son." Ah, if she had only said:
"I shall love you because I love him!" But there was doubt, haunting
doubt. If the glamour