"Who is it?" she asked. "But I know. You are Mr. Quentin, of course. I am Jonathan's mother." She smiled.
But something was wrong with that smile. It seemed incomplete.
"You may come in."
She held out a hand. David advanced and took it. She caught his in both of hers, in a soft lingering clasp.
She smiled again. "It is a good strong hand. You are quite tall, aren't you?"
"Almost six feet."
"And broad, too?"
"Rather, I believe."
He tried to speak lightly, but a hard lump was gathering in his throat.
For he knew what was wrong with that smile. She was blind.
"I am glad of that." She nodded brightly. "I am very fond of large men. It has been my cross that Jonathan took his size from me and not from his father. I could walk under his arm and not even graze his sleeve."