She goes beyond material things--or the mere physical side of love." "Then there is no chance for you unless Sara learns to _unlove_ this man ?" Tim regarded her with faint amusement.
"Mother, do you think you could learn to unlove me--or my father ?" She laughed a little.
"You have me there, Tim," she acknowledged.

"But"-- hesitating a little--"Sara knows so little of the man, apparently, that she may have formed a mistaken estimate of his character.

Perhaps he is not really the--the ideal individual she has pictured him." Tim smiled.
"You are a very transparent person, mother mine," he said indulgently.
"But I'm afraid your hopes of finding that the idol has feet of clay are predestined to disappointment." "Have you met the man ?" asked Elisabeth sharply.
"I do not even know his name.

But I should imagine him a man of big, fine qualities." "Since you don't know him, you can hardly pronounce an opinion." A whimsical smile, touched with sadness, flitted across Tim's face.
"I know Sara," was all he said.
"Sara is given to idealizing the people she cares for," rejoined Elisabeth.
She spoke quietly, but her expression was curiously intent.

It was as though she were gathering together her forces, concentrating them towards some definite purpose, veiled in the inscrutable depths of those strange eyes of hers.
"I find it difficult to forgive her," she said at last.
"That's not like you, mother." "It is--just like me," she responded, a tone of half-tender mockery in her voice.