"Yes," he said with his eyes still far away—and she felt that his intense abstraction was as much a part of his personality as his attention. "Yes, I suppose I was, when I was—sober."
Lois thrilled slightly.
"Did you drink?"
He nodded.
"I was on the way to making a bad hash of things." He smiled and, turning his gray eyes on her, changed the subject.
"Child, tell me about mother. I know it's been awfully hard for you there, lately. I know you've had to sacrifice a lot and put up with a great deal and I want you to know how fine of you I think it is. I feel, Lois, that you're sort of taking the place of both of us there."
Lois thought quickly how little she had sacrificed; how lately she had constantly avoided her nervous, half-invalid mother.
"Youth shouldn't be sacrificed to age, Kieth," she said steadily.
"I know," he sighed, "and you oughtn't to have the weight on your shoulders, child. I wish I were there to help you."
She saw how quickly he had turned her remark and instantly she knew what this quality was that he gave off. He was sweet. Her thoughts went of on a side-track and then she broke the silence with an odd remark.