No, mother dear, don't climb down--please don't. Tell Anabel
what you wanted to say.
MRS. BARLOW. Yes--yes--yes. I came to say--don't be good to my son--
don't be too good to him.
GERALD. Sounds weak, dear--mere contrariness.
MRS. BARLOW. Don't presume to be good to my son, young woman. I
won't have it, even if he will. You hear me?
ANABEL. Yes. I won't presume, then.
GERALD. May she presume to be bad to me, mother?
MRS. BARLOW. For that you may look after yourself.--But a woman who
was good to him would ruin him in six months, take the manhood out of
him. He has a tendency, a secret hankering, to make a gift of himself
to somebody. He sha'n't do it. I warn you. I am not a woman to be
despised.
ANABEL. No--I understand.
MRS. BARLOW. Only one other thing I ask. If he must fight--and
fight he must--let him alone: don't you try to shield him or save
him. DON'T INTERFERE--do you hear?
ANABEL. Not till I must.
MRS. BARLOW. NEVER. Learn your place, and keep it. Keep away from
him, if you are going to be a wife to him. Don't go too near. And
don't let him come too near. Beat him off if he tries. Keep a
solitude in your heart even when you love him best. Keep it. If you
lose it, you lose everything.
GERALD. But that isn't love, mother.
MRS. BARLOW. What?
GERALD. That isn't love.
MRS. BARLOW. WHAT? What do you know of love, you ninny? You only
know the feeding-bottle.
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