"Oh, but you haven't heard."
"I don't want to hear, unless you'd rather—"
"That you did. That's just what I do. I don't think we can go any farther—I mean with our—" the word was difficult to find—"I mean with our—friendship—unless you do hear."
"Oh, very well! I want you to do what's easiest for you, and if it does make a difference I'll tell you honestly."
"Thank you." For a second, not more, he laid his hand on her muff, the nearest he had ever come to touching her. "We were talking about the things my mother did. Well, they weren't good things. The only excuse for her was that she did them for me, because she was fond of me."
"And you were fond of her?"
"Very; I'm fond of her still. It's one of the reasons—but I must tell you the whole story."
He told as much of the story as he thought she needed to know. Beginning with the stealing of the book from which he had learned to read, he touched only the points essential to bringing him to the Christmas Eve which saw the end; but he touched on enough.
"Oh, you poor darling little boy! My heart aches for you—all the way back from now."
"So you see why I became a State ward. There was nothing else to do with me. I hadn't anybody."