Hugh stared at her in blank amazement. “Marjorie, I believe you are going insane—it is so utterly ridiculous for me to attempt even to argue with you.”
With no further word, he rushed from the room, colliding with Howard at the door, and almost knocking him over.
“Good evening, Dad—you’re just the one I want to see. I’ve got my car. Come down to the garage and——”
Hugh brushed by his son without deigning to reply. Howard pursed his lips in a long whistle.
“Gee whiz, mother—what’s eating Dad?” he asked, as he gently pushed open his mother’s door. “Have you been telling him tales about me?”
“No, dear, I haven’t mentioned you.” The mother’s reply was listless.
“Well, what’s wrong with him—he didn’t even answer me, and almost threw me off my feet! I was going to ask him—” He stopped short at a sudden idea. “I say, mother,” he urged, “what’s the matter with you doing it? Come on downstairs with me for a few moments—I want to show you something.”
“I am very tired and nervous, dear,” Marjorie replied wearily. “Can’t you explain what it is without my having to go downstairs?”
But the boy was insistent. “Oh, come on, mother,” he coaxed, taking hold of her arm. “I’ve just got to show it to someone, and you’re the only one home.”
Something pulled violently at Marjorie’s heart-strings, as a flood of tender recollections surged through her. She could see Howard again as a tiny boy tugging at her apron and coaxing for a lollypop. After all, he was only an overgrown, handsome boy—and her own. Obeying a sudden impulse, she placed her arms tenderly about him.