“Maybe—you’re right,” he admitted. “But it seems so cruel, I’m afraid she wouldn’t see it as we do——”
“I just bet she would!” the girl interrupted. “She’s got lots of good sense. Why don’t you ask her and see?”
“Yes—I suppose that would be the proper thing to do.” But he sighed at the prospect of such a proposed interview with the mother who had done so much for him; been so much to him.
When he returned home, he found his mother seated by the table in the dining room. She hadn’t even attempted to clear the supper things away and he could not help but notice that her eyes were red and swollen with weeping.
“Well, mother?” He tenderly touched her shoulder.
“Yes, dear—yes.” She reached up and patted his hand.
“I—I know you’re dreadfully disappointed. I—I’m sorry, mother.”
Marjorie shook her head sadly. She must control herself before speaking. Howard moved a chair over opposite her and sat down.
“You must give me a little time, Howard,” she said slowly. “This has all happened so suddenly—it is difficult for me to grasp.”
“Well you expected me to marry—some day. Didn’t you, mother?” he asked gently.