"You mean he might have had twenty wives?"
"He might have had twenty, and he'd have been the same to all of them, because they play no part, except to make his home a place where his body can live. That's the kind of thing, when a wife finds it out, that either kills her slowly, or drives her mad."
"It didn't kill you, mother," remarked Carnac with a little laugh.
"No, it didn't kill me."
"And it didn't drive you mad," he continued.
She looked at him with burning intensity. "Oh, yes, it did—but I became sane again." She gazed out of the window, down the hillside. "Your father will soon be home. Is there anything you want to say before that?"
Carnac wanted to tell his tragic story, but it was difficult. He caught his mother's hand.
"What's the matter, Carnac? You are in trouble. I can see it in your eyes—I feel it. Is it money?" she asked. She knew it was not, yet she could not help but ask. He shook his head in negation.
"Is it business?"
She knew his answer, yet she must make these steps before she said to him: "Is it a woman?"