She took his arm again, continuing toward the Point.
"Yes, to Ernest. He was so opposed to it. But I've battled for my child's heart, Bob, and I've won out. Your father is giving her ten thousand a year. It isn't much, but they ought to be able to manage. We didn't write you, partly because it was only settled last week, and it was easier to wait and tell you."
"But I thought you didn't like the match yourself, old girl."
"Oh, me! I have to turn myself every way at once. I've no wishes of my own. To reconcile my children to their father and their father to my children is all I live and work for."
Coming to the little rustic gazebo perched on the tip of the Point, they entered and sat down. There being nothing to obtrude itself here on lake and moon and mountain, it was as if they had left human crudities behind. In the windless air, the fragrance of Bob's cigarette mingled with the aromatic pungency of millions and millions of growing things.
"There was simply nothing else to be done," Junia resumed. "There was Edith eating her heart out and stubborn as a mule—and with the mess you've made of things—not that you could foresee—or know the sort of people you were getting in among—"
It was the opening he had been looking for, and he knew that, whatever the outcome, he must use it.
"Exactly what do you mean by that, mother?"
She seemed confused.
"I don't suppose I mean anything—except what's obvious."