"My dear," she said, "Isabel has told me everything."
Paul's face fell. "I am sorry she told you, mother; but she would do it."
"Don't be sorry, Paul; it is the greatest joy to me to find that I have nothing for which to blame my dear son; but that he has been all that I believed and hoped, and far more."
"Still, I had rather that you blamed me than that you blamed her; that is the one thing that I could not bear even from you, mother."
"I do not blame her as I blamed you; the two cases are so different. Don't you know that when a woman is angry she says far more than she means, but that a man—however angry—never says as much? So one can hardly pass the same judgment on the utterances of both."
Paul looked relieved. "You think then that she was—but no; I may find fault with what she writes, but never with what she is; and no one else shall find fault with her at all. You will remember that this confidence is sacred, mother; and that no one but my father and Joanna must ever share it with you."
"Certainly; you may trust us, Paul."
"And you will love Isabel always?"
"Always, dear; both for your sake and her own."