“I came because from what I had heard of your mother I was sure she must be a wonderful woman. I wanted to meet her. And she IS wonderful; and so patient and sweet and good. I fell in love with her. Everyone must love her. You should be proud of your mother, Mr. Paine.”
“I am,” I answered, simply.
“You have reason. And she is very proud of you.”
“Without the reason, I'm afraid.”
She did not speak. Her silence hurt. I felt that I knew what she was thinking and I determined to make her say it.
“Without the reason,” I repeated.
“I did not say that.”
“But you thought it.”
My stubborn persistence was a mistake. Again, as at our meeting in the grove, I had gone too far. Her answer was as completely indifferent as speech and tone could be.
“Indeed?” she said, coldly. “It is barely possible that I did not think about it at all. . . . Now, Mr. Paine, if you are ready shall we clear away?”