Don Lane looked at his mother's face, but could not fathom it. Life to him thus far had been more or less made up of small things—sports, books, joys, small things, no great ponderings, no problems, no introspections, no self-communings—and until but very recently no love, no great emotion, no passion to unsettle him. This shadow which now fell over him—he could not have suspected that. But his mother all these years had known that perhaps at any unforeseen time this very hour might come—had prayed against it, but known always in her heart that it might come, nay, indeed one day must come.
"Damn the place, anyhow!" he broke out at length. "You've lived here long enough, both of you. It's nothing but a little gossiping hell, that's all. I'll take you away from here, both of you, that's what I'll do!" He stretched out a hand suddenly to his mother, who took it, stroking it softly.
"Don, boy," said she, "I didn't run away. Why should we run away now? If we did, we'd take ourselves with us wherever we went, wouldn't we? This is as good a place to live out life as any I could have found. You can't really evade things, you know."
"As though I asked to! I'd rather fight things than evade them."
"I think so," said his mother mournfully. "I suppose that's true."
"But you've got to be happy, mother," said he, again taking her hand in his. "I'll make you happy. I'm ready to work for you now—I'll pay you back."
"And Miss Julia?" smiled his mother. "It was she who told you the news, you know, and you didn't obey her—you came against orders."
"Why, yes, of course. She's been so awfully good to you. I know what she's been, be sure of that." (As though he did know!)
"Don't be too bitter, Don," said Miss Julia Delafield, slowly now, hoping only to salve a wound she felt he might have, yet not sure herself what the wound might be. "Don't be unrelenting. Why, it seems to me, as we grow older and begin to read and think, we find out the best of life is just being—well, being charitable—just forgetting. Nothing matters so very much, Don. That's doctrine, isn't it?"
Don Lane never finished what reply he might have made. There came yet another interruption, yet another footfall on the little walk without, following the clash of the crippled gate as it swung to. It was a man's footfall which they heard on the gallery. They all rose now as Aurora threw open the door.