She followed him as he still walked away. "Oh, Don," she cried, "what do you mean, and what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to try to forget everything of all my life. God! if I could undo it—if I could forget how I got my education," said he. "Tell me, didn't he help at all—did you, all alone, bring me up, far away, never seeing me, educating me, keeping me—taking care of me—didn't he, my father, do anything at all—for you?"
"No, I did it—or at least half of it."
"And who the other half?"
"Never mind, Don, never mind." She patted eagerly on the lapel of his coat, which once more she had caught and was fingering. "Oh, this was to have been my very happiest day—I have been living and working for this all these long, long years—for the day when I'd see you. Let me have a little of it, can't you, Don? If you should forsake me now, I will know that God has; and then I'll know I never had a chance."
Quickly he laid a hand upon her shoulder. "No, I'll wait."
"What do you mean?" she asked. "What is it that you will do?"
"Find out who he was," said he, his face haggard.
"You will never do that, Don."
"Oh, yes. And when I do——"