"But during the last three weeks I have become a little uncertain."
"There shouldn't be the _slightest_ uncertainty," I observed.
"Marriage in England is such a permanent institution."
"I have known it to last for years even in the United States," I sighed.
"And it is a serious responsibility to undertake to reciprocate in full the devotion of an attached wife."
"I fancy Isabel is a person of strong affections," I said; "one notices it with her mother. And any one who could dote on Mrs. Portheris would certainly----"
"I understand," I continued, "why you hesitate. And really, feeling as you do, I wouldn't be precipitate."
"Watch the state of your own heart," I counselled, "for some little time. You may be sure that hers will not alter;" and, as we said good-night, I further suggested that it would be a kindness if Mr. Mafferton would join my lonely parent in the smoking-room.
I don't know what happened on the balcony after that.
"Mamma," said Isabel, as we gathered in the hotel vestibule for the start to Pompeii, "is really not fit to undertake it."
"You'll excuse me, Aunt Caroline," remarked the Senator, "but your complexion isn't by any means right yet. It's a warm day and a long drive. Just as likely as not you'll be down sick after it."
"Stuff!" said Mrs. Portheris. "I thank my stars _I_ have got no enfeebled American constitution. I am perfectly equal to it, thank you."
"It's most unwise," observed Mr. Mafferton.
"Darned--I mean extremely risky," sighed Dicky.
Mrs. Portheris faced upon them. "And pray what do _you_ know about it?" she demanded.
Then momma put in her oar, taking most unguardedly a privilege of relationship. "Of course, you are the best judge of how you feel yourself, Aunt Caroline, but we are told there are some steps to ascend when we get there--and you know how fleshy you are."
In the instant of ominous silence which occurred while Mrs. Portheris was getting her chin into the angle of its greatest majesty, Mr. Mafferton considerately walked to the door. When it was accomplished she looked at momma sideways and down her nose, precisely in the manner of the late Mr. Du Maurier's ladies in _Punch_, in the same state of mind. She might have sat or stood to him. It was another ideal realised.