"Your mother has been dead for fifteen years," said the man.
"Yes—but Father," persisted the girl. 37
With folded arms the man stood watching her bright young color wax—and wane again.
"If there's anything you want to ask," he suggested, "maybe you'd better ask it now—and get it over with."
"Oh, I didn't want to be inquisitive," stammered the girl. "It's only that—that servants and relatives talk so—and I know so little. You—you and mother didn't live together, did you?" she questioned quite abruptly.
"No," said the man.
"You—you mean there was trouble?" flushed the girl.
"There was—some trouble," said the man.
"You mean that you—didn't like her?" probed the merciless little voice.
"No—I—didn't—like her," said the man without a flicker of expression.