Page:Sanctuary (Wharton 1903).djvu/94

 Mrs. Peyton sat revolving her muff on a meditative hand; at length she said: &quot;I'm not sure I think it quite nice of him.&quot;

Her son halted before her with an incredulous stare. &quot;Mother!&quot; he exclaimed.

The rebuke sent a blush to her forehead. &quot;Well—considering your friendship—and everything.&quot;

&quot;Everything? What do you mean by everything? The fact that he has more ability than I have and is therefore more likely to succeed? The fact that he needs the money and the success a deuced sight more than any of us? Is that the reason you think he ought n't to have entered? Mother! I never heard you say an ungenerous thing before.&quot;

The blush deepened to crimson, and she rose with a nervous laugh. &quot;It was ungenerous,&quot; she conceded. &quot;I suppose I'm jealous for you. I hate these competitions!&quot;

Her son smiled reassuringly. &quot;You