Alone with his mother, Howard’s diffidence returned. In spite of all his newly-found chivalry he did not feel at ease.
“Mother,” he began, “I can’t let you do this for me. You don’t believe in divorce.”
“I believe in a great many things,” Marjorie answered, her eyes filled with unshed tears, “that I never believed before. I believe that it takes a great sorrow to bring forth the real character of a true man or woman.”
“You never would have given father his freedom if this hadn’t happened with me.”
Marjorie placed both hands tenderly upon Howard’s shoulders and looked up at him with eyes brimming with love.
“I’m so proud of you—my son!” she murmured.
“Gee whiz, mater,” Howard was the boy once more,—the boy who shied at too much display of emotion! “I only did what any fellow would do.”
“Your father has always been such a pal to you, while I have never been—very close—and yet you turn to me. I—I can’t understand why!” she murmured on softly.
“Oh—well—you know, father’s all right—but there’s something about a boy’s mother—Gee!—that gets him, from the time he’s born till he’s an old man.”
“Do you know, dear, that at this moment, when I should be heart-broken, I am the happiest woman in the world!”