"Be with me? Leave this? Leave Polchester?...Leave father?"
"Yes, why not? Your father doesn't need me any longer. Nobody wants me here. Why shouldn't I go?"
He came close to her, giving her now all his attention, staring at her as though he were seeing her for the first time in his life.
"Mother, aren't you well?...Aren't you happy?"
She laughed. "Happy? Oh, yes, so happy that I'd drown myself to-night if that would do any good."
"Here, sit down." He almost pushed her back into her chair. "We've got to have this out. I don't know what you're talking about. You're unhappy? Why, what's the matter?"
"The matter? Oh, nothing!" she answered. "Nothing at all, except for the last ten years I've hated this place, hated this house, hated your father."
"Hated father?"
He stared at her as though she had in a moment gone completely mad.
"Yes, why not?" she answered quietly. "What has he ever done that I should feel otherwise? What attention has he ever paid to me? When has he ever considered me except as a sort of convenient housekeeper and mistress whom he pays to keep near him? Why shouldn't I hate him? You're very young, Falk, and it would probably surprise you to know how many quiet stay-at- home wives there are who hate their good, honest, well-meaning husbands."