But Mr. Tyson understood the whole matter when, several years before, he had received a letter from the English nurse, who informed him that the baby was the child of the Huntingtons and that she was sorry for the deception. “I did not know what your wife would do about it, and I wanted the Huntington baby to have a home. I will tell no one else.”
“So,” said Maurice, as he quoted the nurse’s words, “the Huntington baby has had a home! I suppose that I should be very grateful! Indeed, I am grateful. You should have seen poor old Dad when he was telling me. He asked me to keep on calling him father and added that he thought a great deal of his worthless son. I wondered that when he was dealing with me for my extravagance at college he did not tell me this. He didn’t have the heart, he said, and it was too late for him to feel that I was not his own son. That was pretty nice of Dad! And he wouldn’t give it away to Mother, either.
“I shall have to keep calling her that, of course. I haven’t so many compunctions in regard to her. Yet she has been good to me. I have had as much mothering as my kid brother. Say,—it’s going to be hard to realize that he isn’t my brother!
“When it comes to Grandmother,—she must not leave me any money because she thinks I am her grandson. I don’t know what to do about that. Dad made me promise not to do anything right now. Promise me, Ann, that you will tell her privately any time you think she ought to know.”
“I couldn’t do that, Maury. It will occur to you what should be done about all this. In the whole story, Maurice, there isn’t one thing for you to be ashamed of! It was just the peculiar set of circumstances. And I’m sure I’m glad that English nurse did what she did. Well, I suppose I ought not to say that, for doing what isn’t square is never right. But she repented anyhow. And suppose that we’d never had you in the family!”
Ann almost regretted her impulsive words when she saw the effect they had. But was not it her duty to do what she could to cheer him up in his whirl of discouragement?
“That is dear of you to say, little one,” said Maurice, taking Ann’s hand in his cold one. It had cost Maurice something to go over this. “I’ll never forget your sympathy, Ann, and when I make good, I’m going to ask you to be another Ann Huntington.”
“Maury,” called Suzanne, “got enough of constellations yet? I want you to come and start for the boys that crazy college song you sang last night.”
Ann and Maurice walked the short distance to the central group, where Maurice accepted the guitar that Louise handed him and led off. Ann, watching him, came to the conclusion that however much he might be upset, Maurice was now more or less relieved, knowing the truth, and having told Ann.