“But this is different. Whenever we’ve quarreled before, it has always been over you or Elinor—or places to go, or people to entertain—but this time it is a—woman!” Shame brought the last word out barely above a whisper.
“A woman!—Not Dad?” Howard laughed. “Who would have believed it? How did you catch him?”
“Howard,” Marjorie struggled with her choking sobs, “please try to understand—can’t you see—my heart is breaking. I haven’t anyone in the world to turn to but you. You’re a man, dear, I—I thought perhaps you can help me or advise me?”
Howard’s face became grave. “I’m sorry, mother,” he begged, “forgive me. Of course, I’ll help you all I can. Who is this woman?”
“I’d rather not tell you her name.”
“Is she young and pretty?”
“She’s only four years younger than I,” was the sad answer, “but you would take her for a girl—and she is very pretty.”
Howard seemed to be considering the matter seriously. When he spoke it was with carefully chosen words.
“Mater, do you mind if I hand it to you straight from the shoulder?” he asked bluntly.
“Say whatever you wish,” she replied.