"Mother, I understand. Lately I have felt a new sympathy for Father, and a new contempt. He missed a lot that was worth while, but he did not know. It was damnable; he might have--kept you."
"No, Brace. It is the world's thought. I have never been bitter. I only wish he could have been happy--after--after he went away."
"And he wasn't?" This had never been discussed between them.
"No, dear. He married a woman who seemed to be what he wanted. She wearied of him. He died a lonely, a bitter man. I was saved the bitterness, at least, and I had you."
"Brace, I know it will seem foolish, but perhaps when you are far away it won't seem so foolish. I want to tell you, dear, that I wish I had never spoken a harsh word to you. Life hurts so at the best--many women are feeling this as I do, dear. Once--you must humour me, Brace--once, after I punished you, I regretted it. I asked your pardon and you said, 'Don't mention it, Mother, I understood.' I want you to say it now, son; it will be such a comfort."
"I believe, God hearing me, Mother, that I have understood; have always known that you were the best and dearest of mothers."
"And now, Mother, there is one thing more. We may not have another opportunity for a real house-cleaning. It's about King's Forest."
Helen started, but she stiffened at once.
"There is a girl, a woman there. Such things as relate to that woman and me often happen to men and women. It's what one does to the happening that counts. I realize that my life has had much in it; but much was left out of it. Much that is common stuff to most fellows; they take it in portions. It came all at once to me, but she was strong enough, fine enough to help me; not drift with me. I wanted you to know."
"Thank you. I understand. Is there anything you would like to have me do?"
"No. Nothing, Mother. It is all right; it had to happen, I suppose. I wanted you to know. We did not dishonour the thing--she's quite wonderful." A pause; then:
"She has a brute of a husband--I hope I freed her of him, in a way; I'm glad to think of that now. She has a child, a little girl, and there were some dead children."
This detail seemed tragically necessary to tell; it seemed to explain all else.
"And now, Mother, I must go around to Kathryn's. Do not sit up, dear. I'll come to your room."