"My dear boy, please do not become irritated by what I say," she said, lifting her head to look at him. "You know I would not hurt you for anything in the world."
"I know, mother, but I cannot imagine——"
"I know you can't," she said interrupting him. "If you had you would have explained it all to me days ago. Come, don't let us quarrel. I may be foolish to have thought what I have, but you must remember, my boy, that I am a mother and—a woman."
"What under the sun has come into your head to talk like this, mother?" he asked.
She placed her needlework in her lap and reached over to stroke his head.
"Don't be cross with your mother, John," she said. "I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding, something you can clear away with a few words, and when you do please do not ever hold it against me for having had such thoughts.
"You know, John, things have changed greatly since I was a girl, but I cannot help myself from having the viewpoint of other days."
"What is it, mother? Tell me, what is it?" he asked, somewhat impatiently.
"You won't be cross and hate me?"
"No."