He deserted her without even bidding, or intending to bid her, farewell.
Hush--remember, this is from _her_ point of view." Peter had started to his feet with an angry exclamation; but he sat down again, and bent his sullen gaze on the garden path as John continued.

His brown face was flushed; but John's low, deep tones, now tender, now scornful, presently enchained and even fascinated his attention.

He listened intently, though angrily.
"Her grief was passionate, but--her life was not over," said John.
"She, who had been guided from childhood by the wishes of others, now found that, without neglecting any duty, she could consult her own inclinations, indulge her own tastes, choose her own friends, enjoy with all the fervour of an unspoilt nature the world which opened freshly before her: a world of art, of music, of literature, of a thousand interests which mean so much to some of us, so little to others.

To her returns this formerly undutiful son, and finds--a passionately devoted mother, indeed, but also a woman in the full pride of her beauty and maturity.

And this boy would condemn _her_--the most delightful, the most attractive, the most unselfish companion ever desired by a man--to sit in the chimney-corner like an old crone with a distaff, throughout all the years that fate may yet hold in store for her--with no greater interest in life than to watch the fading of her own sweet face in the glass, and to await the intervals during which he would be graciously pleased to afford her the consolation of his presence." "Have you done ?" said Peter, furiously.
"I could say a good deal more," said John, growing suddenly cool.
"But"-- he showed his watch--"my time is up." "What--what do you mean by all this ?" said the boy, stammering with passion.