But Don Lane still was ignorant of the closeness of truth of his last remark. He only put such face now on all this as he might.
"Miss Julia," said he lamely, and giving her instinctively the title which the town gave her, "I know you have been good to my mother."
"Why, no, I haven't, Don," said she, "not at all. I've been so busy I have hardly seen your mother for a month or so. But we have kept track of you—why, Don, I've got your class records, every one. You don't know how I got them? Isn't it true, Aurie?"
"I don't know what I would ever have done without her," said Aurora Lane slowly.
Don Lane laughed suddenly. "Why," said he, "it's almost as if I had two mothers, isn't it?"
Both women grew red now, and poor Don, knowing little as he did, grew red as well.
"But what's the matter with your hand, Don—you've cut yourself! I've told your mother she ought to fix that gate-latch."
Don looked once more at his wounded hand, and sought to cover the blood-stain with his kerchief. He saw that Miss Julia had heard nothing of the affair of a few moments earlier in the public square.
"Why, that's nothing," he mumbled.
This was too much for the straightforward nature of Aurora Lane, and rapidly as she might she gave some account to Miss Julia of these late events. She told all—except the basic and essential truth. A sad shame held her back from talking even before Miss Julia of the fact that her boy now knew he was the child of shame itself.