He did not want me to live here in the
house with him because of what people might say. You see, I was a
young woman then, and--well, people are not always kind, you know."
She spoke simply and without the slightest embarrassment.
He looked hard at her half-averted face and was suddenly confronted
by the realization that this grey, motherly woman must have been
young once, like Alix, and pretty. As it is with the young, he
could not think of her except as old. He had always thought of his
mother as old; it was impossible to think of her as having once
been young and gay like the girls he knew. Yes, Mrs. Strong must
have been young and pretty and desirable,--somebody's sweetheart,
somebody's "girl." The thought astonished him.
II
Shortly afterward he took his departure. There was a frown of annoyance
on his brow as he strode briskly up the lane in the direction of
the crossroads, half a mile or more above the village. As usual,
he thought aloud.
"There's no way of finding out just how things stand between them.
The old lady doesn't know anything, that's a cinch. If she really
knew she would have let it out to me. I'll never get a better
chance to pump her than I had today. She doesn't know. You can see
she hopes her son will get her. That's as plain as the nose on your
face. But she doesn't know anything. Is that a good sign or a bad
one? I wish I knew.
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