His mother looked younger standing there beside her dead man. A softness had come into her face.
“You did your best, my dear,” she said, “and I guess I wasn’t much help to you.”
Everybody spoke well of the white, handsome man who lay with closed eyes and folded hands as if saying his prayers. Anthony had no idea that his father had been so universally liked and respected.
“Was father any relation to Mr. Selwyn?” he asked his mother the evening of the funeral.
“Relation!” answered his mother. “Not that I ever heard of. Why, what makes you ask?”
“He called him ‘brother,’” explained Anthony.
“Oh, that,” answered his mother. “Oh, that doesn’t mean that he really was his brother. It’s just a way of speaking of the dead.”