Bob entered his mother's room, and went towards the bed. Mrs. Nancarrow was still a young woman, and looked almost like a girl as she lay on the snowy pillows.
"Whom was that you were talking to?"
"I—I was thinking, mother."
"Thinking? Thinking aloud?"
"I suppose so."
"What about?"
"About father."
There was a silence for a few seconds. Both felt they were on sacred ground.
"Mother," said Bob, remembering what Nancy had said to him, "I want to tell you something. But you won't breathe a word, will you? It's a profound secret. I mean that you must not mention it to any one, must not speak about it to any one, under any circumstances."
"Of course I won't, if you don't wish it. What is it?"