How it had all happened, Sue as yet scarcely knew. But in effect it had been like an avalanche—an avalanche that is built up, flake by flake, over a long period, and then gives way through even so light a touch as the springing to flight of a mountain bird. The Milo avalanche—it was made up of countless small tyrannies and scarcely noticeable acts of selfishness adroitly disguised. But touched into motion by Mrs. Milo's frank cruelty, it had swept upon the two women, destroying all the falsities that had hitherto made any thought of separation impossible. As Sue fingered the check, she realized that her life and her mother's had been changed. It was likely that they might go on living together. Though they were two women who belonged apart.
"Why, Miss Susan,"—Farvel had come across the lawn to her noiselessly—"what's this I hear? That you're going away."
She rose, a little flurried. "I—I suppose I must."
"And you've bought all these for—for the child," he added, catching sight of the dolls and toys.
"It'll be nice to give them to her. But I'd hoped I could be near Barbara for a long time to come. I hoped I could help to make up to the little one for—for anything she's lacked." She shook her head. "But you see, my mother depends on me so. She wouldn't go without me. She's too old to go just with Mrs. Balcome. And—and if it's my duty——" At her feet was that box which Mrs. Balcome had thrown down on hearing that it contained something which should be put upon ice. Sue picked the box up and began to undo the string.
Farvel stood in silence for a little. Then, finally, "I—I want to tell you something before you go. I'm afraid it will surprise you. And—and"—coloring bashfully—"I hardly know how to begin."
"Ye-e-es?" Sue was embarrassed, too, and hid her confusion by taking from the box a bride's bouquet that was destined not to figure in any marriage ceremony. At sight of the flowers, her embarrassment grew.
Farvel began to speak very low.—"After Laura left, I didn't think of a second marriage—not even when her brother had the divorce registered. I felt I couldn't settle down again and be happy when I didn't know her fate. She might be alive, you see. And I am an Episcopal clergyman. Still—I wasn't contented. I had my dreams—of a home, and a wife——" He paused.
"A wife who would really care," she said.
"Yes. And a woman I could love. Because, I know I'm to blame for Laura's going—oh, yes, to a very great extent. I didn't love her enough. If I had, she never would have left—never would have done anything to hurt me. If I were to marry again, it would have to be someone I cared for a great deal. That's what I—I want to plead now when I tell you—when I confess. I want to plead that this new love I feel is so great—almost beyond my—my power, Miss Susan."