"Really?" said Jake. "I don't know why you should be. She was a very fine woman, and she killed herself with hard work when my father failed as a farmer. That's about all her story."
"Oh, Jake, how dreadfully sad!" There was quick sympathy in Maud's tone. She put out a shy hand to him as they walked.
He took it, held it fast for a moment, and let it go. "A woman will always attempt the impossible," he said, "for the sake of anyone she cares for. You would do the same for Bunny. I saw that the first day I met you. I've seen it a hundred times in different parts of the world, and I guess it's one of the greatest things in life."
Maud uttered a sharp sigh. "I don't see anything great in doing what one must," she said rather sadly. "It is very nice of you to admire women, but I expect it is chiefly because you don't understand them."
Jake's frank smile appeared at her words. "I'm not disputing that most women need a burden of some sort," he said gently. "I guess that's just a woman's way. She wouldn't be happy if she hadn't one."
"And yet you want to take mine away!" The words were out almost before she knew it. She repented them even as they fell.
Jake's smile passed, and an odd, dogged look took its place. "I reckon that's different," he said. "You've carried too heavy a burden all your life. Do you know, Maud"--his voice softened though his face remained unchanged--"that first time I saw you, I recognized that look of desperate endurance in your eyes that my mother used to have? It cut right through me. And you were so young, which made it worse."
"I don't feel young," she interposed.
"I know," he made answer. "You've missed it all. But when you're stronger--happier--you'll find you're not so old. There are quite a lot of good things in the world even for middle-aged folk like you and me."
She uttered a little dubious laugh.