"What truth?" Her eyes widened a little, and the man shifted his position uneasily.
"The true realization of how deeply we all stand in Tom Wallifarro's debt," he made blunt response.
"I've always known," she hastily declared, "that he's been a fairy godfather, and given me things—luxurious things—that mother's income couldn't run to."
Larry Masters laughed with a shade of bitterness.
"Your mother has never had any income, Anne. As for myself, there's never been a time since you were a baby when I could make buckle and tongue meet. That's the whole ugly truth. House-rent, clothes, food, education, everything, necessities as well as comforts, livelihood as well as luxuries—the whole lot and parcel have come to my wife and my daughter from the generous hand of Tom Wallifarro. But for that, God knows what their lives would have been."
Anne Masters rose and stood unsteadily on the rag rug before the stone flaggings of the hearth.
"You mean ... that we ... have ... been actual dependents on his kindness—that we've just been ... charity ... parasites?"
The girl's hands came to her bosom and a shiver ran through her. The warm flood of colour left her cheeks, and her eyes were deep with chagrined amazement.
The man did not answer the questions, and she went on with another:
"Do you mean ... for I must know ... that we've lived as we have on nothing but ... generous charity?... That he's been paying all these years what it cost ... to raise me properly ... for his son?"