have had it
all one's life, as your daughter has, must be something very wonderful.
I don't wonder she does not want to give it up."

Lady Gore tried to speak more lightly than she felt. "She need not give
it up," she said, with a somewhat quivering smile. "And you need not
thank me any more," she went on. "I should like you to know what a great
interest and a great pleasure it has been to me that you should have
cared to come and see me as you have done, and to take me into your
life." Rendel was going to speak, but she went on. "I have never had a
son of my own. It was a great disappointment to me at first; I was very
anxious to have one. I used to think how he and I would have planned out
his life together, and that he might perhaps do some of the things in
the world that are worth doing. You see how foolish I was," she ended,
with a tremulous little smile.

Rendel, in spite of his gravity, experience and intuitive understanding,
had a sudden and almost bewildering sense of a change of mental focus as
he heard the wise, gentle adviser confiding in her turn, and confessing
to foolish and unfulfilled illusions. He felt a passionate desire to be
of use to her.

"I should have been quite content if he had been like you," she said,
and she held out her hand, which he instinctively raised to his lips.

"You make me very happy," he said. "You make me hope."

"But," she said, trying to speak in her ordinary voice, "--perhaps I
ought to have begun by saying this--I wonder if Rachel is the right sort
of wife for a rising politician?"

"She is the right sort of wife for me," said Rendel. "That is all that
matters."

"I'm afraid," Lady Gore said, "she isn't ambitious."

"Afraid!" said Rendel.

"She has no ardent political convictions."

"I have enough for both," said Rendel.

"And--and--such as she has are naturally her father's, and therefore
opposed to yours."

"Then we won't talk about politics," Rendel said, "and that will be a
welcome relief."

"I'm afraid also," the mother went on, smiling, "that she is not abreast
of the age--that she doesn't write, doesn't belong to a club, doesn't
even bicycle, and can't take photographs."

"Oh, what a perfect woman!" ejaculated Rendel.

"In fact I must admit that she has no bread-winning talent, and that in
case of need she could not earn her own livelihood."

"If she had anything to do with me," said Rendel, "I should be ashamed
if she tried."

"She is not as cl