“What do you mean? Who made a fool of herself?”
“You recalled the story—it was in all the papers. But I called her Miss Wadhurst.”
“There’s a difference between a girl making a fool of herself and being made a victim of, isn’t there?”
“But the notoriety—it is not her fault, I know, but still——”
“Still what?”
“I don’t know what. I don’t know anything. I only feel.” He looked at her for some time—at first with a frown creeping over his face, but it did not develop into a frown; on the contrary, it vanished in a smile. He took her hand and put his arm about her.
“Thank God that you can feel, mother, for it’s more than most women can do nowadays,” said he. “And what you should feel is that if that girl was a fool once she may be a fool again and marry me; and that if I have been a fool always I may be wise once and marry her, if I can. I tell you that she—she—by God! she has made a man of me, and that’s a big enough achievement for any girl. Thank God, my dear mother, that I’ve set my heart on a girl that can do this off her own bat.”
“I will, my son,” said she, quietly; and they walked back to the house without a word.