Marjorie Benton was at a loss for words. She felt that here was a situation that required the utmost diplomacy. She prayed for strength, but it came not.
“Howard,” she asked slowly and thoughtfully, her eyes on her son’s face to lose no shade of expression. “Have you absolutely made up your mind to marry this—Katie Walsh?”
“Yes, mother, I have,” he answered firmly, but gently. And watching him, Marjorie Benton knew that no matter what else she and Hugh might have endowed him with, that Howard had inherited the stubbornness that had been so big a part of both their natures, that had wrought so much ruin to them both. She knew that it was inevitable that the illiterate little Irish girl would become the wife of her son. “I love her. I can’t tell you how dearly! I was very lonely when I met her, and she crept into my heart. She’s a good, true girl, and after we’re married, you and I can teach her together.”
Marjorie Benton bowed her head to Fate’s decree. She had done what she could. She had tried before—and failed. But it was left for her this night to see the new monument to Hope she had raised up lie crumbling in ruins at her feet.
“I can’t say anything more to you, Howard,” she said falteringly, “because I love you too much, dear, to stand in the way of your happiness. I’ll just ask God to bless you—and I’ll pray that it is all for the best.”
“Mother, dear.” He leapt from his chair to kiss her. “You’re such a brick! You’ve made me so happy!”
“I’m glad of that.” She smiled up into his eager face, but he could not see the smile was soulless. He had turned to pace up and down, fidgeting about uneasily. Suddenly he stopped in front of his mother who had not moved. “I have something else to tell you, mother,” he gulped, “and I—I don’t know just how—to say it.”
Marjorie reached for his hand and stroked it gently. “You mustn’t hesitate to tell me anything,” she assured him. “We’ve been very close to each other since—since we came here. There must never again be a lack of confidence between us.”
“I’ll have to tell you, mother.” He clasped his hands behind him, and cleared his throat. “I hope you won’t misunderstand—you’ve got out of the way of misunderstanding me since—since—” he stammered.
His mother nodded encouragingly. “You know I love you,” he hurried on, “but I love Katie, too. We want to be married very soon, and she—we—want to start—living alone.”