"You, yes; and I know you have--Haidee has told me. But this last year ... and now. Who is paying for all this?" He swung his arm savagely at the beauties of the garden. His gaze was full of rage and contempt.
"In leaving Bran I left my honour with you--and you have sold it for this mess of pottage! It is time he went with me!"
She faced him steadily, with the calmness born of long vigils with misery.
"You are insulting me unnecessarily. No one has supported your son but myself."
He stared at her in unbelieving wrath. But something about her words and still gaze presently quieted the fury in his veins, and he spoke more temperately.
"I will be glad to accept that. It is strange that by your own efforts you should have become wealthy enough to surround him with beauty and ease such as this--but if you say so I accept it."
There was a silence.
"My own efforts had nothing to do with it, Garrett. It is only that God has been good to me. Did you ever hear the saying, that 'God takes care of drunkards and children'?"
He regarded her long and earnestly.
"Are you a drunkard?" Anything less like one he had never seen. His medical experience told him that she could not be one. No drunkard could look as she did.