“You’d never trust me.... He’s my brother. We’ve never spoken of him ... he’s caused us a great deal of sorrow—disgrace, poor fellow. Through drinking. Father wouldn’t let us see him, or mention him. And Grandma was just as harsh. Even Frankie turned against him....”
She paused a moment and feebly wiped the tears from her closed eyes.
“But I’ve always seen so much good in him. I’ve always been so fond of him, poor fellow!... So much good—going to waste!”
“But, Minnie, if you’d only spoken to me——”
“I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair to him. He’s very proud, in his way.”
Mr. Petersen sat down beside her, and tried, in a long silence, to adjust himself to this. He was conscious of a great relief, a terrible burden being lifted from him. And a feeling of guilt in the presence of the poor little woman. How could he for an instant have suspected Minnie, respectable, conscientious, maternal Minnie, of having a lover! Filthy, vile, preposterous idea!
“We’ll find a way to help your brother, my dear,” he said.
She reached out a calloused and hot little hand and put it into his.
“Chris,” she said, “what I want is to have him here. Under my eye. Where I can look after him. May I?”
“Of course, my dear.”