“That is evident; and now, my dear, I have a question to ask you.”
“Yes?”
“Was it worth it? Come, Letty, give me a straight answer.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean running off with the child, forfeiting your income, your country, your friends—yes—and your lover—all to come out here, have Cara to yourself, and work hard for her support.”
She paused for a moment. Then, as Letty was preparing to answer, resumed:
“Is she your real treasure? Does she adore her mother? In short, Letty, is this girl your compensation?”
Here was a direct, startling, and unexpected question. For a moment Letty hesitated; as in a flash, memory brought to her, Cara’s tempers, her tyranny of Les Plans, her iron will, her secrecy—but oh, what cruel, cruel, disloyal thoughts! How could a mother harbour them? Looking up straight into her confessor’s eyes, she replied:
“I have no regrets, and I would do it again!”
“Ah—would you!” the tone was dubious. “Lately it has seemed to me, my dear, that your letters were terribly depressed—that is to say, reading between the lines.”